Truth In A Bottle
by ozhawk
Summary: Jemma Simmons has a secret crush. So does a certain Avenger. Agent May takes matters into her own hands when they're both too shy to do anything about it. WARNING: SMUTTY. Seriously smutty. Also features a Skye/Captain America romance and an episode with sex pollen.
1. Confessions From A Bottle

**I was watching AoS the other night (an older episode from Season 1) and laughing to myself over the way Simmons gets a bit girlish and silly whenever there's a muscle-bound man in her lab. And this little bit of porn-with-not-much-plot popped into my head. **

**This, for me, fits in between Season 1 and Season 2. Coulson and Trip are off the Bus, being busy with S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff, May's in charge, and Fitz and Simmons are still her lab crew. Skye is with them, but they are a Specialist short. Coulson assigns them one but May doesn't reveal his identity to her team yet.**

**Incidentally, how are Hawkeye and Simmons not a thing? I found ONE fanfiction featuring them as a couple, and it has him dying in her arms. NOT COOL. I'd ship these two. Simmons likes muscly guys and I could totally see Clint falling for a brainy chick.**

**So here's a big pile of smut. It gets physical in Chapter 2 **

**Chapter 1.**

"Thor."

"No, it's Captain America."

"Seriously, Thor's _arms_."

"Captain America's _ass_."

Jemma watched in amusement as May and Skye toasted each other with their glasses and knocked back their shots. "You two. Get your minds out of the gutter."

They were in Agent May's quarters at the Hub. They weren't leaving again until the following day and May had invited them around for the evening after realising Skye and Jemma were at a loose end. Skye had arrived with a bottle of bourbon. They'd just cracked it open. After drinking May's bottle of vodka.

"Come on, Jemma," Skye turned to her, eyes glittering. "You can't tell us you don't have a thing for guys with muscles. I've seen how you stutter when you get a good specimen in the lab to poke at. You used to practically drool all over Ward every time you had to stitch him up."

"I did _not_," Jemma said, trying for dignity. May and Skye both laughed at her. "Well, maybe I did, but at least I'm not lusting over guys I've only seen on TV!"

"I've _met_ Thor," May pointed out. "_And_ Steve Rogers. Which is why I'm right, Skye. Thor _wins_."

"He's not even human, it's cheating," Skye said, pouring another shot each, after glaring at Jemma until she reluctantly drank hers.

"Well, Steve Rogers had to have the super-serum. Did you see his photos from beforehand?" May shook her head. "He was a weedy little runt before it. _Totally_ cheating."

"You're both wrong," Jemma replied, suddenly feeling warm. Damn, that was good bourbon.

"Oh yeah, so who's the most bangable Avenger, in your opinion? _Tell_ me it's not Doctor Banner. I mean, I know he's got the brains and all, but the giant green rage monster…" May was several shots ahead of Jemma and her tongue had clearly been loosened by the alcohol.

"No! I don't have a death wish."

"And I know you hate Tony Stark for being a total asshole because we've bitched him out together more than once," Skye slurred, "so that leaves – who does that leave, May? Black Widow? I mean, she's hot, but I thought you were straight, Jemma…"

"I am straight!"

"Ah, the delicious Agent Barton, then," May grinned as Jemma totally failed to suppress her blush.

"Who?" Skye looked blank.

"Hawkeye. The archer," Jemma said. May was _smirking_ at her, dammit.

"Oh! Scrumptious McArms," Skye giggled.

"Seriously, you're looking at _his_ arms and you don't appreciate Thor's? There is something wrong with you," May shook her head, grabbed the bottle and poured them all another shot. The last one had gone down easy, Jemma thought in surprise, looking at her empty glass.

"Like I said," she knocked back the fresh shot and grinned, suddenly feeling loose and happy, "Thor's not human. Agent Barton is. He's a magnificent, unenhanced specimen and I would just _love_…" she ran down, and Skye laughed and poured her another shot.

"Come on, Jemma, don't stop there. Tell us your favourite Hawkeye fantasy."

It took two more shots for them to coax it out of her, but in the end, Jemma caved.

"I've had dreams," she admitted, "of him holding me up against the wall with _those arms_. I bet he's an absolute _animal_ in bed. Agent Romanoff's a lucky woman."

May burst out laughing. "You don't seriously believe that they're sleeping together?"

"The whole of S.H.I.E.L.D. knows they're sleeping together!" Jemma said indignantly.

"I didn't," Skye protested.

"Well, they aren't. Trust me on this. I went through the Academy with Barton and I've worked with him many times in the field since. And with Romanoff. They are _not_ sleeping together. She treats him like her aggravating little brother."

"_Really?_" Jemma sighed. "Dammit, May, you shouldn't have told me that! Now I can fantasize about him without worrying about the Black Widow finding out and killing me, I'll totally be dreaming about him every night!"

Skye cracked up laughing. "Oh, I have _got_ to meet this guy who's got Jemma all in a tizz!" She reached for the bottle and cursed when she realised it was empty. "Dammit, we're out!"

"We've really had enough if I'm telling you about my Hawkeye crush," Jemma joined in the giggles as they looked at the two empty bottles on the table. "Come on, Skye. Time for us to crash." She hooked her arm in the other girl's.

"Want a hand back to your quarters?" May stood up.

"We'll be fine," Skye and Jemma chorused, and she grinned and showed them out. Returning to the small table they'd been sitting at, she sat back down and cast her eyes up to the ceiling.

"I told you so. You really should stop stalking the poor girl and make a move."

For a moment, there was total silence. And then the air vent lifted soundlessly upwards and a man dropped through it and landed in a crouch on the floor. Above average height, solidly built, he had short dark blond hair and striking blue-green eyes.

"You don't have to be right all the time, Melinda," he chided, setting a full bottle of vodka on the table. May smiled at the brand name visible on the bottle.

"Very good, Barton, you remembered." She cracked the seal on the bottle and poured herself a shot.

"And you shouldn't have drunk those poor girls under the table like that. You were definitely leading Agent Simmons." He perched on the back of the chair Jemma had lately vacated. "I'm sure it wasn't a valid confession."

"She's too shy to own up when she's sober," May retorted, "but I've seen her watching you. As you frequently and oh-so-casually cross her path."

"Fuck off." A slight flush appeared on Barton's high cheekbones. "I do not."

"Seriously?" May arched a brow at him. "Clint. We've been friends for how long now?"

"Thirteen years, or thereabouts," he sighed, "which only gives point to the argument _she's too young for me. _Which conversation I believe we've had once or twice before."

"You're full of shit and not exactly snatching the cradle. And I know very well that you recommended her _and_ her buddy Fitz to Coulson."

"Fitz designed my taser arrowheads when he was still in the Academy!" Clint protested.

"And you had your eye on Jemma even then, don't deny it."

The archer groaned, slipped down to sit properly on the chair and plonked his forehead hard on the table. "God, I'm such a lecherous old bastard. _Why_ do I have this obsession about that gorgeous brainy young thing?"

"You're an idiot. She's not quite eight years younger than you, which is bugger all and perfectly acceptable. You heard what she wants, Barton. You should give it to her."

Clint had lifted his head to look at his friend, and at her words, he swallowed, his pupils suddenly blowing out with lust. "It was – it was just a fantasy of hers. She said so."

"Yours too, from the look on your face. You could always start something and give her the opportunity to say no," May pointed out. She laughed as he visibly shifted in his chair. "I tell you what, I still owe you one from that time in Jakarta. I'll pay you back with a shot at Jemma on her own. The Bus, tomorrow, oh nine hundred hours, before we lift off."

**What do you think? Yay or nay? Please let me know in comments!**

**(And yes, I am still writing the sequel to TAGD. Be patient. It's happening.)**


	2. Meeting Boudicca

**Chapter 2.**

Clint walked slowly up the Bus's rear ramp. May stood at the top of it, talking with the other girl from last night – Skye? Behind them, through the closed lab doors, he could see Fitz and Simmons at the holotable, gesturing at some complicated mechanism floating in between them.

"Good morning, Agent Barton," May greeted him formally. Skye turned to face him, her eyes widening in recognition at the name, and then she scanned him over with a grin coming to her lips.

"Agent May," he responded politely.

"Skye, this is Agent Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye," May introduced.

Skye held out a hand, smiling brightly. "It's an honour to meet one of the Avengers, Agent Barton."

Oh goodness, she could _quite_ see what Jemma was on about. He was absolutely _delicious_, dressed in a sleeveless black combat suit, bow slung over one shoulder and a black kit bag over the other. His arms were muscles on muscles.

"Thank you, Skye," he had a low, gravelly voice and a firm, warm handshake. Skye felt like fanning herself.

"Skye and I are going to a briefing. Agent Fitz," May slammed her hand on the lab's door opening button. "You're going to be late for your meeting."

"Oh, Gawd," the engineer grabbed a tablet from a desk and ran down the ramp, seeing Barton on his way past and giving him a vague wave. "Hi, Clint!"

"Good to see you again too, Fitz," Clint grinned after him.

"Agent Simmons, this is Agent Barton. He's temporarily assigned to the Bus. Could you show him to quarters while Skye and I go to the briefing? We're scheduled wheels up at twelve hundred hours," she told Clint.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded. May gave him a very faint twitch of one eyelid and headed off down the ramp, Skye trailing behind her. A little nervously, he swallowed, and then turned back to face the young woman who'd been haunting his dreams since the very first time he saw her.

Soft light brown hair and the prettiest hazel eyes set in a delicate face had caught his attention first. And then he'd heard her brilliance spoken of, read some of her papers, used her inventions in the field, and he'd fallen more than a little bit in love with the lovely young scientist, even though they'd never spoken.

"Agent Hawkeye," she gasped in her breathy English accent. "Ah, I mean – Agent Barton. I'm sorry. So silly of me."

"Not at all," he extended his hand, and she really had no option but to put hers in it. "You can call me anything you like, Agent Simmons. But since we're going to be working together, I'd like it if you'll call me Clint."

"I, ah, yes, of course. _Clint_." She said his name as though she was savouring it, and he suddenly realised it had been a serious mistake to wear his combat uniform, because just listening to her speak was making him hard. Shit, he should have worn a suit. The longer suit jacket might have hidden his arousal, but his tight combat pants were just emphasising it.

_Don't look down_, he thought frantically, and then had an idea. He deliberately flexed the bicep above the hand that was still holding Jemma's, and her eyes latched onto it. She swallowed convulsively and licked her lips.

"Agent May said that you'd show me to my quarters?" he prompted, wanting to kick himself when he heard his voice come out lower and huskier than normal. _Bloody hell._ _Why_ did the girl affect him like this?

"Um, yes!" She blinked away from his bicep and looked up at his face, a hectic blush painting her cheekbones. "This way."

She led him up the stairs, and he wouldn't have been male if he didn't appreciate the excellent view. She had a stunning figure, slender and toned. He licked his lips as her butt wiggled prettily in front of him. Oh God, now her fantasy was infecting him, because all he could think about was pinning her to the wall, holding that perfect heart-shaped ass in his hands while he…

He shook himself out of it as Jemma led him through the meeting area and showed him the private cubicles. Compact but comfortable, he'd many times slept in worse.

"Thank you," he deposited his kit bag on the floor, and laid his bow gently down on the bed.

"Is that…" her eyes were fixed on the bow. It was sleek, black and lethal-looking, all curves and vicious angles. She'd heard he was the only unenhanced human who could draw it.

"Boudicca? Yeah."

"You named your bow after an English warrior queen?" She turned to him, eyes laughing.

"There's nothing more dangerous than a beautiful Englishwoman."

Jemma suddenly realised how close he was to her in the confined space, as he practically purred it in her ear. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, and suddenly he was crowding her back against the wall, his hands coming up on either side of her, his eyes fixed on her mouth.

"Your bow's beautiful," she managed to gasp out.

"Not the most beautiful thing in this room by a long shot. _Jemma_."

She couldn't look away from his eyes, a gorgeous, stormy blue-green colour. His scent surrounded her, warm and musky, fuzzing her head. But her brain still worked. Just about.

"You know my name." She hadn't told him her first name. Because he'd turned her into a stuttering idiot when he told her to call him Clint.

"I've had my eye on you for quite a while, Jemma." He breathed it, his head lowering to hers. She was only five foot four and he was nearly six foot, so it was a fair way down. She had all the time in the world to escape. She didn't move a muscle.

Well, if this was a particularly excellent dream, she was going to enjoy every single second of it, as Hawkeye lowered his mouth to hers. She could feel his warm breath brushing across her lips as he held still for a moment, as though waiting for her to pull away. She parted her lips and let her eyes drift shut.

O-kay, he wasn't going to get a better invitation than that. She'd practically engraved it. Clint lowered his mouth the last tiny distance and kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm, and she tasted of ripe cherries. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, and she let out the tiniest little moan.

He pulled back, wondering if that was a sound of distress, and Jemma threw her arms around his neck impatiently. "Don't you dare!" she snapped and plastered her lips to his again. She felt him smile against her mouth, and then he hit the door closure button and put his hands on her waist.

"Fuck, you're _gorgeous_," he groaned, nibbling down her neck. She tipped her head back to give him better access, leaning her body into him, and he slid one hand down to catch her knee, lifting it to his hip and pushing himself against her, grinding gently, showing her how much he wanted her.

Jemma whimpered with desire as his other big hand came up to cup her breast, his finger and thumb plucking lightly at her nipple through the fabric of her shirt and bra until it hardened.

"I like these tailored shirts and ties you wear," his low, husky voice murmured in her ear, and it was probably a good think he was pinning her to the wall because the way he was touching her made her knees go utterly weak. "You think it makes you look professional, don't you, sweetheart? All it makes me think of is how much I want to see you wearing nothing but _my_ shirt, when I finally let you out of my bed."

"You have a filthy mind, Hawkeye," Jemma gasped, and he laughed softly against her throat.

"Yes, sweetheart. I do. And I've been fantasising about you for a long, long time. About having these beautiful legs wrapped around me while I fuck you so hard you can't remember your own name. About shoving my tongue up inside your sweet little pussy and eating you out until you come in my mouth."

He was touching her as he spoke, his big hand gliding along her thigh to hold her ass, his arousal grinding hard against her crotch. "Do you want that, sweetheart? Do you want me?"

"Oh my God, yes," Jemma whimpered. "_Please_." A small part of her mind was telling her that this was just a biochemical reaction. Pheromones, maybe. Her libido cheerfully told that small part of her brain to fuck off and stop thinking. Because this was pretty much her ultimate fantasy come to life and she needed to stop analysing and just _enjoy_ it.

**Author's Note: For those of you who know your British history, Boudicca (Boadicea) was actually an Iceni Celt, not English, more what would be called Welsh today. But it fitted better with the line I wanted Clint to say to have Jemma call her English. So I took a slight liberty. Jemma's brilliant but history isn't her specialty, after all **

**Please comment and let me know if you like this! I'm shipping Hawkeye and Simmons SO MUCH right now. What would the ship be called? BioHawk? Sounds weird… suggestions welcome!**


	3. Stripped Down

**Chapter 3.**

Clint had to stop and take a moment. He really hadn't expected Jemma to be quite so enthusiastic. But she was going along willingly with everything he was doing to her, her nails scratching at his neck and scalp driving him wild with lust. "Jemma," he pulled back from her briefly, trying to give her a moment to clear her head, "are you sure about this?"

"Shut up and get some of these clothes off already," she demanded, fingers scrabbling at the straps of his combat vest.

"You're not still drunk, are you?"

"No!" she scowled up at him, slender fingers finding the snaps that held the vest closed. One more look in her eyes, and he shrugged it off willingly, peeling the sleeveless T-shirt he wore underneath off over his head. Her fingers traced wonderingly over the thick muscles of his chest, and it was his turn to let out a moan.

"Jemma," he said her name softly, like a prayer. His hand went to the band securing her hair in its usual neat ponytail, sliding it free, spreading her hair around her shoulders, sighing at its softness against his fingers. "Damn, but you're lovely," he muttered. "So much more than I deserve."

"Shut up and kiss me, hero." She laughed quietly at his words, her hands exploring the defined muscles of his stomach. Clint smiled down at her, and then his hands came up and he was slipping her tie free, unfastening the buttons of her blouse, spreading it open, his breath catching as he exposed her bra.

It was pretty, like her. Creamy satin with a print of tiny pink roses. "Such a beautiful English rose," one calloused finger traced delicately across the curve of her breasts rising above the bra cups. A wicked, lustful smile curved his mouth. "Do your panties match?"

"Why don't you find out?" she smirked boldly up at him, still unable to keep her hands from wonderingly tracing over all that heavy, scarred muscle. She toed out of her flat shoes as his hands moved to her waist, popping the button of her sensible grey work slacks and easing down the zip. She let them drop to her ankles with a shimmy of her hips and stepping out of them, shrugging her shoulders at the same time to let her shirt fall to the floor, and stood before him.

They did match, God help him. Of course they would: she was too precise and organised for anything else. Bikini-cut panties rode high on her slim hips, and he had to swallow to get some moisture into his dry mouth, because damn if she wasn't the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her fingers were at his waist now, trying to undo his pants, and he stayed her hand gently.

"Not yet, sweetheart. You've got me too worked up, I'm gonna be going off early like some teenager with his first girl. Let me pleasure you first."

"Oh," she tilted her head and gave him a coy little smile. "If you insist."

"I do." He glanced around the tiny room, lifted his bow and propped it against the wall, and guided her gently towards the bed. "Here. Lie down for me."

"You put me ahead of Boudicca? I'm honoured," she teased. "Oh!" He unsnapped her bra as she knelt on the bed, and she twisted around to look up at him from wide, startled eyes, hands flying to cover her breasts as the straps slid off her shoulders.

"You want this?" he stopped, hands on her shoulders, standing behind her, the heat from his body warming her back. "We can stop now, you can get dressed and go, pretend it never happened."

Jemma took a deep breath, and took her hands away, pulling her bra off and tossing it to the floor. "That's not what I want." She turned around to him, taking his big hands in hers. "_You're_ what I want." And she drew his hands to her breasts.

Agent Barton, like most senior agents, rarely showed much expression. Jemma had spent enough time surreptitiously watching him to know that he did impassive-face about as well as Agent May. But right now he was an open book, naked desire written all over his face as he caressed her breasts gently, experienced fingers tweaking her nipples.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he muttered raspily, and then he was pushing her gently to lie down on the bed. "Give me a moment, sweetheart."

She frowned, and then smiled as she realised he needed to take off his boots. She traced her fingers down the muscles of his back – wow, she'd never seen such deltoid and trapezius muscles, must come from all that work with a bow – until he turned back to her with a low sound in his throat almost like a snarl.

"Witch!" and he was lying alongside her, crowding her up against the wall due to the narrowness of the bed, one big hand grasping her knee and lifting it over his hip before sliding up her inner thigh and in between her legs. She moaned as he pressed against her firmly. "Oh, fuck, you're soaking," he growled out. "You _do_ want me, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Yes," she moaned, just before he started kissing her again, his mouth hot. She kissed him back frantically, lust completely overwhelming her, a wild, sloppy kiss with their teeth clicking together as he rubbed over her clit through her panties. She began to tremble, her nails digging into his shoulders as hot-and-cold tingling at the base of her spine heralded an orgasm, faster than she'd ever come in her life.

A high-pitched whine came from her throat as she tensed against him, further wetness soaking his hand through the already drenched satin. "Beautiful girl, you're so responsive," he praised, easing down the bed, bending his knees to give himself room, until he could kiss her breasts. "So _sensitive_," he purred, curling his tongue around a rock-hard nipple and tugging it into his mouth.

Another of those high whines escaped Jemma as Clint eased her panties aside and slid one thick finger slowly up inside her. She was soaked with arousal but tight, slight muscle tremors rippling around his finger, aftershocks from that first orgasm as he moved it slowly inside her. He tried very hard not to think about how tight she would feel wrapped around his cock, but right now his body was clamouring for release and the noises she was making _really_ weren't helping. She was very tight, though, he might hurt her if he didn't prepare her some more first, and hurting her was the very last thing he wanted.

"Let me taste you," he moved off the bed suddenly, grabbing her knees and pulling her towards him, his fingers hooking in the satin over her hips and drawing her panties down her thighs before pulling them off completely.

"Anything you want." Jemma was so delirious with pleasure she absolutely didn't care what he did to her next, just as long as he kept touching her.

He groaned, hot breath gusting over her stomach, and she forced her eyes down and looked at him to see his blue-green eyes gleaming at her wickedly. "Don't give me _complete_ free rein, sweetheart. I want to do some very wicked things to you."

"Okay," she said contentedly, deliberately lifting her legs over his shoulders and pressing her heels against his back. "Go ahead." She heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Naughty, _naughty_ girl," he growled, and then she felt his tongue stroke over the crease of her inner thigh, just where her leg joined her torso. "Forty lashes for that, I think."

She was neatly trimmed – would Jemma be anything else? – short, soft brown curls tickling his nose lightly as he dipped in for a quick taste, licking a broad stripe from slit to clit, making her arch and let out a soft moan. Pretty and pink and absolutely fucking dripping with arousal. For _him_. And she tasted amazing, like honey and musk and vanilla. He lapped her juices thirstily, strong hands holding her hips steady as she writhed and panted, before remembering that he needed to prepare her to receive him and added a hand to what he was doing with his tongue, pressing two fingers inside her this time and crooking them to find that soft, spongy spot inside her walls, spelling his name against her clit with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh. My. _God_." Of _course_ he hit her G-spot on the first try. Of course. Hawkeye _never_ missed his target. And Jemma was coming again, even harder than the first time, her fingers twisting in the sheet beneath her as her whole body shook. He didn't let up, carrying on licking and thrusting his fingers inside her until she managed to put a hand to his head and push lightly.

"Stop. Please. Too much."

"Not enough," he murmured, but satisfied himself with one more lick to her swollen, agonisingly sensitive clit, making her gasp and shudder, before lifting his head, wiping her juices from his chin with his free hand. He didn't take his fingers out of her though, instead sat back on his heels and added a third, watching her as he thrust slowly, opening her up for him gently.

Each thrust of his fingers sent a slight tremor through her body, wringing more of those exquisite little whines from her throat. She didn't tell him to stop, though, so he kept going, standing up and leaning over her to mouth at her nipples again. She brought one slender hand to his hair, running her fingers through the short strands, massaging at his scalp. Even that tiny touch on him pushed his need past its limits.

"I gotta have you," Clint said roughly. "Please, Jemma."

"Yes, get your trousers _off_ already," she moaned, opening her eyes to see him bending over her, his face contorted with need.

He didn't need to take his fingers out of her to undo his pants and shove them roughly down along with his jockey shorts. Kicking out of them, he paused. Damn, he _would_ need both hands to find a condom. But Jemma was pressing on a panel by the bed, which slid open to reveal a strip of foil packets, grabbing for one and ripping it open.

"Come here," she demanded, her hazel eyes flashing at him, and he grinned and leaned forward, never letting up with the movement of his hand, so that her hands shook as she rolled the rubber onto him.

**Told you this got smutty fast. Phew, it's getting warm in here!**

**Enjoying the story so far? Please let me know what you think! I reckon these two would be gorgeous together, cannot understand why no one is shipping them.**


	4. I've Been Set Up

**Chapter 4.**

Jemma's breath stuttered when Clint leaned forward in all his naked glory. Damn, his cock was as big as the rest of his muscles, long and thick and straining towards her. She hoped he didn't notice her hands shaking with nerves as she smoothed the condom on. He wasn't her first by any means, but he was easily the biggest guy she'd ever been with. She hoped he knew what he was doing, because otherwise this was going to hurt.

"You'll be fine," he must have read the slight trepidation on her face, because when she looked up at him he was smiling gently down at her. "Let me take care of you, Jemma." And he was easing her back up the bed, placing her head on the pillow, his hand never letting up inside her as he moved to settle his hips between her thighs.

"I trust you," she gazed up at him, her eyes wide, pupils blown with lust. He had to swallow thickly as her words hit him. He kissed her again, slipping his fingers from her and putting both hands on her hips.

She could taste herself on him, overlaid on the coffee-and-spice taste of his mouth. It should have disgusted her, but it didn't, it was wildly exciting, and then he murmured an order to wrap her legs around him and she obeyed instinctively. Another of those embarrassing noises came out of her mouth as she felt the thick, blunt head of his cock nudge against her, and she felt him smile against her lips.

She was everything Clint had ever dreamed of. Sensitive, responsive, obedient – there was nothing prim and precise about Jemma now as she kissed him back wildly, her nails clawing frantically at his back as he eased slowly into her. He had to stop kissing her for a moment and take a couple of deep breaths as she suddenly clenched and fluttered around him, coming again even though he was barely moving and not even fully sheathed inside her. For the first time he got a good look at her face as she came, and she was utterly beautiful, her eyes half-lidded, lips swollen and parted, her face and chest flushed with arousal.

_What the hell did I ever do to deserve this?_ he wondered, but didn't say it aloud. He couldn't even move right now, she was clamped so hard on his cock, her back bowing, hips lifting into him. Damn, but he wasn't going to last long, and even less time if she kept letting out those damnably sexy little whines. Slowly the tight grip around him eased and he carried on moving, thrusting slowly, determined that he wasn't going to hurt her. She was very wet, but so tight. So. Damn. _Tight_…

"Oh, _fuck_." A bolt of lightning seemed to hit up his spine, his balls drew up tight to his body and he was coming, so hard that for a moment he could barely breathe. "Christ, fuck, shit, I'm sorry, Jemma!" he groaned out against her soft throat.

"The only thing you need to be sorry about is that filthy, _filthy_ mouth," her soft hands stroked his back gently as he shuddered with the aftershocks of that magnificent orgasm. "Oh. And for stalking me."

"What?" he stiffened in the very act of moving to kiss her again.

"How else would you have known I was drunk last night?" Her brain had finally started to process some of what he'd said.

"Oh," he tried to shrug casually. "I saw you on your way back here with Skye last night. The two of you were all over the place." That wasn't even _technically_ a lie. The two of them had been staggering when they left May's quarters.

"_Hmm_," she narrowed her pretty eyes at him, and he kissed her again hastily. _Damn_ that clever brain of hers, why oh _why_ did he have to fall for someone so brilliant? He was never going to be able to keep _anything_ from her.

"Bathroom?" he asked, easing out of her slowly, dropping a hand to make sure the condom stayed secure. He grabbed the folded blanket from the foot of the bed and slung it around his waist. May had promised him that no one would be back on the plane until eleven-thirty at the earliest, but you never knew, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to catch him walking out of his room with a filled condom hanging from his dick. Gently he tugged the sheet from under Jemma and covered her with it, as she told him the bathroom was two doors down.

"Stay here. Please?" he asked her as he tapped the door release. "I'll only be a couple of minutes."

"I should get back to work…"

"Not yet." He shot her a pleading look, then followed it with a cheeky grin. "If you like, I can make it an order as your superior officer."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't move, and he nodded and keyed the door closed again.

Jemma stayed staring at the door for a minute, and then flopped to her back, staring at the ceiling above her. "I just got banged by _Hawkeye_," she said to the ceiling incredulously, and then had to roll over to muffle her giggles in the pillow. It still all seemed like a crazy dream, apart from the languor pervading her body and the damp sticky feeling between her legs. Three orgasms. _Three_. She hadn't even realised that she was physically _capable_ of that in such a short period of time.

The door slid open and she rolled to her back to see him looming over her. She couldn't help a long, slow survey of his body. He was all heavy muscle, thick pectorals, wide shoulders, those massive biceps. He tapered beautifully to a narrow waist, and she'd seen the powerful thigh muscles. The scars – the many, many awful scars – were the only thing that stopped him from being a perfect physical specimen.

Jemma had the oddest look on her face, and she wouldn't meet his eyes. Was she regretting him already? Clint shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed beside her, reaching to put his hand on her shoulder.

"Jemma. Sweetheart, are you all right? I really didn't intend for that to happen." He really hadn't. Despite May's urging. He'd just wanted to spend a bit of time with her, talk to her, get her comfortable with him. Maybe snatch a kiss or two. But honestly he'd been lost from the moment she called him _Clint_ in that breathy English accent. "Not so soon, anyway," when she looked suddenly a tiny bit hurt. "I rushed you."

Jemma met his eyes, and melted inside at the look of concern there. He was smiling tenderly, his big hand stroking her shoulder soothingly. "Don't apologise. It was fabulous. _You_ were amazing. Can we do that again sometime?" She winced inwardly. Oh God, another attack of verbal diarrhoea. But Clint was laughing softly.

"I'd love to. My refractory period isn't quite what it was when I was a teenager, but I reckon you turn me on enough to make it pretty short." He dropped the blanket and eased into bed beside her. "We've still got a couple of hours before anyone else gets back. Let's make the most of it."

"I've been _set up_," she realised suddenly as his hands came up to cover her breasts. "I'm going to _kill_ May!"

"She owed me a favour." He grinned and kissed her. "Told you, Jemma. I've had my eye on you for quite a while."

"Really?" she blinked at him, looking suddenly very young and rather like a startled fawn.

"Yeah. I'm too old for you but I apparently have an uncontrollable attraction to gorgeous, brilliant young Englishwomen." He shrugged a bit self-deprecatingly, and she frowned and linked her hands behind his head, pulling him down to kiss her again.

"You're not _that_ old," deliberately she writhed against him. "Let me demonstrate something to you. Certain physiological responses can be generated with application of the correct methods…"

"You fucking turn me on so much when you talk science," he murmured as her hands slid down his abdomen.

"Dear, oh dear," bright eyes twinkled up at him as she slid down his body. "You'd better not wear those tight leather trousers the next time you come into my lab then."

He threw his head back against the pillow and groaned. _Of course_ she fucking noticed. Who did he think he was kidding? The groan turned to a gasp as she licked delicately around the head of his already-hardening cock.

"I am _really_ gonna enjoy this assignment," he murmured, his eyes closing with bliss as Jemma's soft, clever mouth caressed him.

**Comments are always welcome!**


	5. This One's For You

**Chapter 5.**

Jemma liked to think that she gave good head. She knew human anatomy, had studied that particular aspect of male physiology and biochemistry with interest. It had practical applications, after all. She'd never, though, been able to suppress her gag reflex enough to deep-throat a guy, and considering Clint's length and thickness, _hell_ no that wasn't happening. Not that he seemed to care. He put a hand to her head and she tensed briefly, worried that he might try to hold her still and thrust into her mouth, but he just started running his fingers gently through her hair.

She tasted and licked, curled her tongue around the head of his cock and _tugged_, using one hand around the base to grasp and pump, cupping and rolling his balls in the other, scraping a fingernail delicately across the perineum. He was fully erect again with a couple of minutes, making low rumbling sounds deep in his chest, muscular thighs tensing and shifting. He never moved his hips, though, and his hand just kept combing softly through her hair.

_Damn_ but what she was doing felt good. Jemma approached blowing him with the same methodical precision she applied to everything else in her life, and she was just as good at this as she was with her clever inventions. She obviously didn't want to take him deep in her mouth because she tensed when he touched her head, and he was fine with that. He was big enough that almost any woman would have balked anyway, and he wasn't a brute. What she was doing with her tongue and those clever hands was more than enough to get him panting with need again in short order anyway.

"Jemma," Clint groaned after a few minutes. "Stop."

She obeyed at once, but then asked anxiously "Was I doing something wrong?"

"Oh hell no," he lifted his head, looking at her shocked. "No, sweetheart, that was fucking amazing!"

"Oh," she blushed adorably. "But – you asked me to stop." She hung her head, and he was reminded of a wilting snowdrop.

"Jemma," he sat up and reached for her, pulling her into his arms until she nestled against his chest. "I didn't want your jaw to get tired." He caressed the smooth line of her jaw with one hand as she gazed up at him from those soft, trusting eyes. "Besides, if you carried on I was gonna fail to carry through on my promise a second time."

"Promise?" her brow furrowed adorably, and he kissed between her eyebrows, trying to smooth the frown away with his lips.

"When I said I was gonna fuck you so hard you can't remember your own name," he growled softly, letting his hands slide down to her breasts, cupping them gently in his big hands, pinching lightly at her nipples until they hardened and she let out a stifled little moan.

"Oh," her cheeks flushed as her eyes drifted closed, "yes, please."

She was almost sitting on him, back to his chest, her thighs astride one of his, so he lay back, pulling her with him, running his hand down her flat stomach into her curls. Splayed out atop him was a very vulnerable position, but she only sighed and turned her face against his neck, letting him do as he wished with her as he ground his arousal gently against her hip.

"This one's for you, beautiful girl," he whispered huskily in her ear as his fingers explored gently inside her again, his thumb flicking lightly over her clit at irregular intervals making her shiver and moan. "How do you want it? I'll last a while this time around, so we can do anything you want."

"I don't – I…" Clint could tell Jemma was embarrassed by the way she burrowed her face against his neck, making sure he couldn't see her expression. And her blush, from how hot her cheek felt.

"Tell me," he said softly, setting up a slow rhythm with his fingers, plunging deep inside her and then drawing slowly, tauntingly back out before plunging hard back in again. "Don't be embarrassed, sweetheart. I'm just frantic to feel you coming around my cock, again and again, and any way I can make that happen, I will."

She just shook her head and shuddered against him, and he grinned. "Not quite ready to tell me yet? I'll coax it out of you." And with one quick move he twisted out from under her, leaving her on her back and him on his knees between her thighs as he reached for another condom. He had it smoothed on in a moment and leaned forward, smiling at the look on her face as she bit her lip and eyed him with eager anticipation. "This what you like? Missionary?"

"I'd always heard," Jemma finally found her voice as he began to ease slowly deep inside her, "that you didn't talk much."

"Then you haven't talked to anyone that knows me well." He grinned down at her, pushing slowly deeper, encouraging her to lift her knees to make it easier for her. "My friends say I never fucking shut up."

"Certainly not in bed oh my God _Clint_ that feels like you're fucking me with a _baseball bat_!" she gabbled the last few words, sweat breaking out on her hairline.

"You all right, sweetheart?" he eased back an inch, giving her time to adjust. She panted, her hips shifting, and he made to pull back further. He didn't want to cause her any discomfort, maybe he needed some lube, she wasn't ready for this…

"Don't you dare fucking pull out!" Surprisingly strong legs twined around his waist. "That feels _amazing_ just – slowly…"

"Whatever you need, Jemma," he leaned in to kiss her, playing a gentle duel of tongues, distracting her. He shifted his hips slowly, thrusting gently, feeling his passage get easier as she became slicker. "Mmm," he hummed deep in his throat as he finally got fully inside her. "Damn, you feel so good."

Jemma still had the strangest feeling of unreality, that this really couldn't be Clint Barton, the legendary Hawkeye, atop and inside her, making her feel – well, totally not like herself. She felt like a vixen, sexy and desirable, with the way he was looking at and speaking to her, his gorgeous bluey-green eyes so close to hers, gazing at her as he murmured smutty filth with that sensual mouth. Even his voice was sexy, low and raspy, scraping along her nerves and making her shiver with want.

The way he felt inside her, though, convinced her that this genuinely was real, not some crazy dream or drug-induced hallucination. He was hot and thick and she felt absolutely stuffed, full in a way she'd never been before as he began to thrust gently inside her.

"Oh, my God," Jemma whimpered, her eyes drifting closed, and that seemed to be some sort of signal to him, because Clint suddenly moved, lifting her hips, pulling his knees forward so he was sitting on his heels and her bottom was on his lap.

He sat upright, his strong hands holding her hips still, and then he began to really move, pumping hard into her, drawing almost all the way back before slamming back in. A low wail came from Jemma's lips, but he grinned tightly, recognising that it was a wail of pleasure, not pain, and kept thrusting.

"That's it," Clint coaxed, watching Jemma as she began to shake, her hands clawing at the sheets. "That's it, gorgeous girl, come for me. I love feeling you come. You like this?"

"Yes!" she wailed it, her head starting to thrash from side to side. "Yes! Please! Oh my _God_…" as he applied a precise fingertip to her clit and she went straight off the deep end.

**Smut, smut, more smut. This was originally going to be a fairly short story, but I'm up past 11 chapters and plot is sneaking up on me. Hope you are all enjoying so far, please leave me a review to let me know what you think!**


	6. Non-Creepy Stalker

**Chapter 6.**

Clint watched, awed, as Jemma bucked against him, letting out high, keening moans interspersed with gasps of his name. He couldn't have moved right then even if he'd wanted to, because she'd clamped down on him again with a hot wet clench of internal muscles as the orgasm hit. "Good girl," he praised, leaning down to pet her hair and kiss her, "beautiful girl, you feel utterly fucking amazing."

A little smile touched her lips as she lay shuddering and panting under him. "The feeling is reciprocated."

"Good," he kissed her again, smiling. "Now. How would you like me to make you come next?"

"Seriously?" she opened her eyes and blinked languidly at him. "I doubt I _can_ orgasm again."

"We'll just have to find out, won't we? Tell me your favourite fantasy."

Her face was already flushed with arousal, but her cheeks definitely darkened further and she wouldn't look at him. Clint decided to tease her.

"All right. I'll tell you one of mine and you tell me if you think it's gonna work for you." He never let up moving inside her, gentle little thrusts even as he spoke.

"Okay," Jemma gasped. "Tell me – ohhh – tell me _your_ fantasy."

"I think about pinning you up against the wall," he bent his head to breathe it into her ear, "holding this fabulous ass in my hands," he demonstrated, slipping his hands under her buttocks and pulling her hard against him with his next thrust, "shoving you against the wall with my body and fucking you until you can hardly walk."

Even if he didn't already know, the way her hips jerked and her breathing sped up would have told him. "You like that idea, huh?" he purred, licking the long line of her arched throat. "Want me to put these muscles to good use?"

Jemma's inhibitions finally broke. "Yes, yes, oh God, Clint I want that, please, yes, _please_!"

"All you had to do was ask," and he was gathering her to him, telling her to put her arms round his neck, and somehow athletically getting off the bed and standing up while still remaining inside her. His powerful hands under her butt supported her entire weight, and then he was shoving her up against the wall, a low growl escaping his throat as he thrust hard inside her.

It couldn't really have been more than a few minutes, but for Jemma it was a blissful eternity of hard, rippling muscle and slamming ecstasy. Afterwards she would be deeply grateful that Clint had ensured that no one else would be on the Bus, because she was sure that her screams could have been heard in the cockpit, even though the sleeping cubicles were supposed to be soundproof.

And then Clint was laughing against her throat, a low rumble in his chest as she trembled against him. "Couldn't come again, hey, sweetheart?"

"You – you…" she couldn't think of the word. "You broke my brain," she finally said pathetically.

"I don't doubt it's temporary."

She was limp in his arms, breathing in short jerky pants. He lowered her gently to the bed again and slipped out of her, stroking her stomach and ribs gently, waiting for her to settle.

"You _knew_," Jemma said at last.

"Knew what?" he widened his eyes and looked innocent.

"You knew that I had that fantasy about you and you used it against me. I'm going to _kill_ May," she decided.

"You loved every minute of it," he grinned, not even trying to deny it, and then a finger was dipping inside her again. "And don't be angry with May. You told me yourself."

"I did _not_."

"Oh, yes you did." His finger thrust a little faster. "Do the words 'I bet he's an absolute _animal_ in bed' sound at all familiar, sweetheart?" he was whispering it huskily in her ear, his thumb getting to work on her clit again, and she started to shake.

"You _were_ stalking me, you bastard," she gasped out, and then she stopped caring. "Clint, _please_…"

"Turn over," he begged, desperate to have her like the animal she'd accused him of being. She obeyed at once, lifting that gorgeous ass in the air for him, and he groaned at the sight, going to his knees behind her. "Tell me if I'm being too rough," Clint rasped out, and then he clamped his hands to her hips and shoved deep inside her, a low snarl coming from his throat.

"Yes oh my God don't stop _Clint_!" her voice rose in a wail, and he drew back slightly and slammed in even harder. She bucked against him, squealing, her tiny fists beating at the pillow.

"You love this, don't you?" he gritted out, setting up a fast rhythm, snapping his hips against her, dragging her back to meet every thrust. He was sweating now, heat prickling at the base of his spine telling him he wasn't far off climaxing again himself.

"_Please!_" Jemma wailed, and the last thing she heard was his low chuckle as his hand slid down over her hip between her legs, and then he was _pinching_ her clit in time to those fast, brutal thrusts.

She honestly hadn't thought she could come again. Had thought that she was completely wrung out, no more response left in her body, but the orgasm this time was the biggest of the lot, a rolling wave of blackness that smashed through her and left her barely aware of his roar of triumph and pulsing heat as he slammed deep one last time.

Jemma came to with the feeling of warm wetness between her legs, and opened her eyes, squinting blearily down to find Clint sitting on the bed beside her, gently wiping her down with a damp towel. She should have been embarrassed, but considering she'd just had far and away the best sex of her life with one of the Avengers, she genuinely couldn't bring herself to care about the fact that he was cleaning her up.

"I know your secret," she said, discovering that even her voice was broken as her words came out slurring and slow.

"Yeah?" he glanced up at her face and smiled. "What's that?"

"Your superhero power. Why you're an Avenger. You're there to seduce the female villains over to our side with unbelievably good sex."

Clint laughed, set the towel down and lifted the sheet, easing back into bed beside Jemma and pulling her into his arms. She was utterly limp and relaxed, her head flopping comfortably onto his bicep.

"No, we don't have a male counterpart to the Black Widow. I'm just a sniper."

She let out an inelegant snort before going quiet. And then making an effort to move.

"Really should get up…"

"Ssh," he stroked her hair. "Sleep a little. You've got time. I'll wake you before the others come back."

Jemma knew, vaguely, that she really ought to get back to work. Fitz would wonder why nothing had been done since he left. But Clint was comfortable – who knew a heavily muscled arm was such an amazing pillow? – and so warm, and she felt so lethargic…

**Now that's the kind of creepy stalker you wouldn't mind having, right? Right?**


	7. Awkward Aftermath

**Chapter 7.**

Jemma woke to a familiar sensation, a masculine voice saying her name and a warm hand stroking her hair.

"Not now, Fitz," she mumbled. "Tired."

The hand stilled, and she blinked slowly, struggling to get her eyes to focus. They snapped open as Clint drawled;

"I see I may have mistaken the situation. Agent Fitz regularly wakes you, does he?"

"No!" she gasped out. "I mean, yes, but not the way you're thinking. I fall asleep in the lab a lot."

He stared back at her impassively, and Jemma blinked the last of the drowsiness away. He was fully dressed in his sleeveless combat suit again, Agent Barton ready to go out and fight the bad guys. There was nothing about him that indicated he'd just spent over an hour having ridiculously good sex. _But then for him it was probably just average sex_, Jemma thought a bit dismally.

"Fitz is my best friend. He's like a brother to me," she insisted, suddenly desperate for him to believe her.

"Well, he'll be back shortly, along with the others. You'd better get dressed." Clint gestured to the end of the bed, where Jemma found her neatly folded clothes. Along with fresh underwear. _How did he get into her cubicle to get those?_ They were biometrically locked, she and Fitz had installed the locks themselves – _that was a really stupid question_, she chided herself as he left her alone to dress. This was _Hawkeye_ she was talking about. Still, she'd have to get him to tell her how he got around the security.

He wasn't there when she left the cubicle, the bed neatly made, and slipped into her own room. Her used underwear had even been put into her laundry bag. Bloody man. One glance in her mirror and she winced and reached for her hairbrush and makeup bag. She had major bedhead and post-coital drowsy eyes, plus lips so swollen she doubted she'd be able to disguise them.

Clint wasn't around when she finally left the bathroom, and she found him downstairs on the ramp, securing a pair of black and silver motorcycles parked in the spot Lola usually occupied. He glanced up as she walked down the stairs, but didn't say anything. Well, he wouldn't. Two agents were there as well, delivering a large stack of what looked like weapons cases.

"The weapons lockers are over here," Jemma offered, "can I help you stow anything, Agent Barton?"

"Thank you, Agent Simmons, I have it under control." He finished securing the bikes and scooped up a couple of the cases. It was a clear dismissal, and Jemma tried not to feel hurt as she went back into the lab and tried to get back to work. It really didn't help that she was hyper-aware of him moving about, every motion smooth and economical as he stowed his gear.

Fitz arrived back first, carrying some new bits of equipment and babbling excitedly about new tech, although he threw in a few disparaging remarks about Tony Stark who'd apparently invented it.

"Be nicer about Stark," Jemma nudged his shoulder and whispered. "Remember we're working with one of the other Avengers."

"Oh," Fitz looked up at Clint, who was still packing things away on the ramp. "Are he and Stark friends?"

"I don't know, but the rumour is Stark built them all an apartment in his tower when it was rebuilt, and that Barton actually lives there between missions."

"Rumour's correct," Clint called through the open lab doors. Damn it, he must have super-hearing as well! FitzSimmons twitched. "And yes, Tony Stark's a friend. Doesn't mean he's not an obnoxious bastard, though. Feel free to bitch about him if you want to."

Jemma giggled with embarrassment as Clint walked through the lab doors, one case still in his hand. Fitz had flushed to the roots of his hair.

"It seems disrespectful, sir…"

"So is Tony Stark. Although I have heard him say one or two admiring things about your work, Fitz."

"Me, sir?" Fitz went even redder and started stuttering. "Tony Stark _knows my name_?"

"Certainly he does." Clint put the case down on Fitz's bench and opened it. "Both your names." His eyes slid across to Jemma for a moment. "And stop calling me _sir_, Fitz. My name's Clint. Agent Barton if we're in company with non-team members."

"Yes, sir – Agent Barton – Clint – oh, hell," Fitz ducked his head with embarrassment and Jemma patted his shoulder consolingly. "It's a bit difficult," he muttered. "All the Avengers are practically living legends. Literally in the case of Thor and Captain America."

"We're no different to everyone else. Well, except Thor, but he's a really nice guy, once you get past the strange way he talks. And when you meet Captain America, just call him Steve. He'll be your friend for life."

"_When_ we meet Captain America?" Jemma picked up on the important word in the sentence. "Is that likely?"

"At some point," his face remained still and impassive. "Steve's a close friend, and heavily involved in the S.H.I.E.L.D. rebuild. We may well run across him."

May came striding up the ramp then, Skye trotting along on her heels. "Settled in, Clint?" she looked at him.

"Yes, thanks, Cav," he responded, and she nodded before striding off up the stairs, throwing a terse;

"Wheels up in ten," over her shoulder.

"You did _not_ just call her _Cav_," Skye skidded to a halt just inside the lab doors and stared at Clint in awe.

"I wouldn't recommend you follow my example, Skye," a slight smile cracked the impassive façade. "It might not be conducive to your health."

"How is it conducive to _your_ health?" the hacker pushed, slinging herself into a chair. "She always just snarls 'Don't call me that' if the word Cavalry is so much as mentioned."

"It's a long story. And not mine to tell. Don't bother hacking into files looking, Skye. It's not written down anywhere but in my and Agent May's heads."

Skye eyed him speculatively. "Do you like bourbon?"

"Sure," he grinned properly this time, and he was definitely looking at Jemma. She busied herself at her lab bench making sure everything was secured for takeoff. "But you'll not have any more luck drinking me under the table than you do Agent May. Less, if anything. I have more body mass than she does and I normally drink with the Avengers."

"So?" Fitz said.

"Bruce Banner admittedly doesn't drink, but Steve Rogers _can't_ get drunk. His metabolism breaks the alcohol down too fast. Thor is Asgardian and our booze doesn't even touch him. Tony Stark is an alcoholic who goes through expensive Scotch like water. And I believe Agent Romanoff actually has vodka flowing through her veins instead of blood."

"That's physiologically impossible," Jemma muttered instinctively as Skye and Fitz laughed at Clint's joke, "alcohol isn't a carrier for haemoglobin…" she made the mistake of looking at Clint, and his eyes caught hers. Her voice trailed off as she _saw_ his pupils blow wide with lust.

Skye caught the tail end of the look between them and her eyes widened speculatively. She might have said something deeply embarrassing except they were interrupted by May's voice over the intercom as the ramp started to grind closed.

"Strap in."

Fitz picked up the case Clint had put on his bench. "Is this important, Agent Barton – sorry, Clint?"

"We'll talk about it after takeoff." Clint took the case back and ushered them all to the jump seats, pulling on a headset. "Secured for takeoff, Agent May."

Somehow Jemma found herself sitting next to Clint, his muscled thigh pressing hard against hers throughout the takeoff. He was holding the weapons case across his lap, and once the Bus was levelling off at altitude, opened it up in the lab to reveal a bunch of long black rods.

"Unfinished arrows," he told them. "I want you to adapt your ICER rounds for arrows."

"Ah," Jemma lifted one of the arrow shafts. It was hollow, and unexpectedly light. "What is it made of?" she asked curiously.

"Carbon fibre and ceramic composite," Clint replied. "Means I can use a cylinder instead of a solid shaft and adjust the weighting as required. Ideally I prefer interchangeable heads but we can start with specialised arrows."

"Of course," Fitz was already pulling up a schematic. "We could use a polycarbonate tube for the dendrotoxin…"

"I brought tubing that fits the arrow shafts, too," Clint moved some of the black rods so they could see the thin clear tubes beneath.

"Well aren't you helpful," Jemma murmured, her mind already occupied with the problem of adapting the delivery mechanism.

"I try, Jemma," his tone was definitely darker and huskier. She tried not to shiver as he moved deliberately behind her, ostensibly to peer at the computer screen over her shoulder.

"The arrowhead will be the issue – we slowed the ICER round down to low velocity so it's non-lethal…" Fitz was already muttering to himself, lost in the problem.

Disinterested, Skye scooped up her laptop and backpack and headed for the stairs. Glancing back as she started to ascend, she saw Agent Barton standing _very_ close to Jemma. Skye grinned and ran up the stairs. Looked like the attraction might well be mutual. Well, Jemma deserved a good man. And if he could introduce Skye to Captain America… Skye licked her lips. Maybe she'd get a shot at one of _her_ favourite fantasies too.

**So – this is where plot starts happening. Don't worry, I promise there will be more smut and plenty of it! I'm blown away by the response to this story so far, please keep the comments coming though, it really does encourage me to keep writing.**


	8. Sneaky Bastard

**Chapter 8.**

Clint had to leave the lab when Jemma and Fitz started finishing each other's sentences. He found it unbearably sexy listening to Jemma talk science, but he was also jealous of her closeness with Fitz, even though she'd described the young engineer as like a brother to her, it was clear she was deeply fond of him. He left them figuring out how to turn arrows into ICER rounds and went looking for May. She was still in the cockpit, preparing to turn the plane over to autopilot.

"Want me to stay here and fly while you brief your team?" Clint had been briefed on where they were headed today, but he knew the rest of them hadn't.

"You leave my Bus alone," May grinned at him, gesturing him out of the cockpit, and he shoulder-checked her lightly as they headed for the command centre. Skye was already there, playing with the Bus's supercomputer. Clint scanned briefly over what she was doing and nodded. Skye looked at him with narrowed eyes and cocked head, and he grinned at her. She'd find out he was a hacker almost her equal soon enough. They might even trade some secrets.

"Briefing time," May paged FitzSimmons, and they arrived within a couple of minutes, still arguing in low voices, though they went silent as they entered the room.

"So where are we headed…" for an instant Clint thought Skye was going to call May _Cav_, but she wised up and went with "AM?"

"New Mexico." May pulled up an image on the screen. "We're to collect Dr. Foster, her assistant and her scientific equipment, transfer them to New York and escort Dr. Foster to Avengers Tower personally."

"Dr. Foster – _Jane_ Foster? The astrophysicist who defined the Einstein-Rosen Bridge Equations?" That was Jemma.

"She's _amazing_," from Fitz with a dreamy sigh. "Brilliant _and_ beautiful."

"And Thor's girlfriend." Skye, of course, grinning to herself. "Is Thor around?"

May gestured at Clint to speak, and he nodded. She wasn't exactly a big talker at the best of times, and he was happy to take over the briefing. "No. Which is where we come in. Thor's busy at the moment and he wants a safe escort for Dr. Foster. Her experiments in both London and New Mexico have wrapped up and she's going to be working at the Avengers Tower labs in the future. For obvious reasons," Clint grinned, "Thor trusts this team to get the job done."

Skye snorted to herself. Fitz was clutching his hands to his chest, looking dreamy-eyed. Jemma stood quietly, refusing to meet Clint's eye. May was eyeing Jemma too, and when Clint turned his head, May gave him a cocked eyebrow. He looked away, not really wanting to admit that he'd already seduced the young scientist. Somehow he didn't really think May had that in mind when she'd offered him a chance to get to know Jemma without anyone else in the way.

"It's not a long trip, and we are able to land the Bus literally alongside Dr. Foster's lab as it's on the outskirts of town," Clint said finally, pulling up some photo images. "We'll spend the night on the ground in Puente Antiguo and depart tomorrow. Dr. Foster and her assistant Miss Lewis are supposed to have all their equipment packed. I can tell you for certain this will not have happened as Foster is one of the world's least organised people, so Fitz and Simmons, you'll almost certainly be required to help pack up and transport some sensitive scientific equipment. Skye, you'll be needed for computer support. I'll want you to keep an accurate inventory, including photographic records of what was packed where. I know from experience that Dr. Foster is very difficult to deal with if any of her equipment is misplaced."

All three of them nodded and murmured "Yes, Agent Barton."

"We're leaving at noon tomorrow," May said, "so it could be a long night. Get some rest on the flight down. That means you, FitzSimmons. Agent Barton's ICER arrows can wait a day or two. Don't make me lock you out of the lab again. And Skye? Leave your laptop here."

"Yes, Agent May," the three junior agents chorused.

"_Now_," May said when nobody moved, and the three all twitched and hurried out. Clint relieved Skye of her phone as she passed him, getting a nasty look in return. He smiled at her and put it down on her laptop.

"Agent Barton," May said coolly as he turned to follow them out, "a word in my office?"

Damn it, Melinda knew him too well. He followed her up the spiral stairs and sat down comfortably in the chair opposite the desk, leaning back and putting his feet on the desk. She gave him stink eye and he shrugged and dropped his boots back to the floor. "Wassup, Cav?"

"Have you and Simmons had sex already?"

Well, she always did come straight to the point. "Yup."

"Clint…"

"Mutually willingly, I assure you," he smiled at the memory. "I gave her plenty of opportunities to turn me down."

"And now she's too embarrassed to even look you in the eye. She's shy, Clint. You've pushed her too fast." May sounded distinctly disapproving.

"She has hidden depths." Clint sat forward and looked hard at May. "You and Ward, and Coulson, coddled all three of your junior agents. I know Phil thinks of them as his kids, which is all well and good because loving your team translates to looking out for their best interests, but let's get real. Skye hasn't been encouraged to push her hacking training any further than she already has on her own, and you and I both know there are many, many S.H.I.E.L.D. tricks that would help take her skills to the next level. Her physical training is coming along well, I'll grant you and Ward did a fair job there, but I can't believe Phil and you didn't force Fitz and Jemma into better physical training as well. Jemma couldn't punch her way out of a paper bag, and Fitz – well, the less said about his combat instincts the better. Has he taken a PT class of any kind since graduating the Academy?"

May sat down behind the desk with her mouth open, for once caught by surprise. "Fuck, Clint," she said after a moment. "You're not pulling punches, are you?"

"You and I both know what Coulson has planned for Simmons. And even setting personal feelings aside, there is no way I am letting her go in as a HYDRA plant without _significantly_ better self-defence skills. And Fitz's sense of self-worth is completely shot. He's not going to get better hiding in the lab like he's always done. He needs to build himself up physically. The mental courage will come once the physical skills to back it up are in place."

May nodded slowly, unable to disagree with his assessment of either of the two scientists. "Skye's only Level One, though," she pointed out.

"And she hasn't even been given access to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Level One hacking programs! How the hell does Coulson expect her to become our top hacker – and I _know_ that's what he expects – if he won't even give her the basic tools to do her job?"

"Ah, shit," May shut her eyes in disgust. She'd pulled Clint up here to ream him out, and instead he'd pointed out serious shortcomings in a team he'd walked into only a few hours ago. Shortcomings _she_ should have addressed months ago, even before it became her command. "You should be in this seat, not me."

"We both know why I'm not. Coulson intends this to be _your_ billet. I'm his troubleshooter. We're rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. from the core out, and right now, this _is_ the core. I'm just here to make sure it's not a weak foundation."

"You're higher-ranked than me." May didn't want to acknowledge his words. Didn't want to believe that Coulson put that much faith in her. She was one of very few people who knew that Clint had been up for Level Nine – had been offered the Deputy Director job and turned it down, saying Maria Hill was a better fit because Clint didn't kiss ass well enough. He'd been Level Eight for several years, dropped back to Six after New York, and was back up to Eight again. He was certainly senior in the agency to May, who'd only just been promoted to Level Eight.

"I've got no problems taking mission orders from you, Cav. Never have had. And we both know that if you hadn't chosen to back out of field work after Bahrain and spend five years rotting in Admin, you'd be Deputy Director right now instead of Natasha, not Coulson's roving firefighter."

"Fuck you!"

"Lie to yourself all you like, but you can't lie to me."

"Get out of my office, Barton."

"Yes, ma'am," he stood and saluted deliberately. "I respectfully request you take into consideration the points I brought up regarding the team? Or I can put it in my report."

"We'll start PT with Simmons and Fitz once we've dropped Foster in New York," May said with a sigh. He was right and she knew it. "And you can give Skye access to whatever programs you think appropriate. Up to Level Five, on my authority."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, stop it Clint. You're the only person I know who can sound so fucking rude when you're saying such respectful words."

He grinned cheekily on his way out the door. "You know it, Cav."

May sighed and made her way back to the cockpit. She needed to think. She'd been sitting staring out into the sky for almost half an hour before she realised he'd so successfully distracted her that she'd forgotten to tell Clint to give Simmons some space for a while.

"That sneaky bastard!"

**So now we know where they're going and why Clint is on the Bus. Next chapter we get to see Jane and Darcy again…**

**Comments are always appreciated!**


	9. Was It Something I Said?

**Chapter 9.**

Jemma wasn't sleeping, just lying down resting. Her mind was in a complete whirl. May had simply said that Agent Barton was temporarily assigned to the team, but what did that mean? Was it only for this mission, to escort Thor's girlfriend to New York? Was she ever going to even see Clint again after tomorrow?

A light tap came at her cubicle door, and she sighed and stood.

"No, Fitz, I'm not sneaking back down to the lab – oh," as the door finished sliding open to reveal Clint standing there. He'd removed his tac vest and now wore just a sleeveless black T-shirt and black combat pants. His feet were bare.

"I'm glad to hear it," he murmured.

Jemma blushed bright red. She couldn't seem to think of anything to say or do, just froze in place, scarlet-cheeked. She'd been thinking how unreal the morning seemed, how, if she couldn't still feel the ache between her thighs, she might have imagined the whole thing.

"May I come in?" Clint asked after a moment.

"Oh. Yes." She moved back, letting him in, and he closed the door, turned and put a hand to her arm, drawing her to sit down beside him on the bed. She held herself stiff, unnerved.

"Clint, I…"

"Jemma…"

They spoke at the same time. "You first," Jemma said quickly. _Oh, God, he was going to say it was all a mistake_. If he apologised for giving her the best sex of her life, she was going to smack him.

"Jemma, I think I rushed you," Clint said.

"What?" she'd been prepared to get angry at him, but she hadn't expected _that_. Or the way he was looking at her, an expression of gentle concern on his face.

"I'm not going to say I didn't want you, or that it was a mistake to make love to you, and I'm not going to say that it wasn't the best sex of my life, because any of those things would be bullshit. But I do think I rushed you into it, and made things awkward, and I didn't want that for us."

Jemma sat with her mouth open for a long moment, and finally she managed to get her thoughts into some sort of order and gave him a shy smile. "It was that good for you, too?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" a smile curved his sensual lips. "You were amazing, and if we hadn't been ordered to get some rest I'd be begging you for round three right about now."

Jemma giggled through her fingers, suddenly feeling a lot lighter and happier. "I'd be saying yes."

"Good," he smiled, and then nudged her gently with his shoulder. "Lie down with me, then? It really is likely to be a long night, we should rest while we can."

Jemma nodded eagerly, and Clint lay back on her bed, pulling her back against him. She curled into the curve of his body, fitting beautifully against him, her head tucking perfectly under his chin. Her ass on his thighs was definitely disturbing, but she'd drained him pretty well earlier. Clint put his arm around Jemma's waist and closed his eyes.

She really hadn't expected to fall asleep, but he was so warm, his breathing slow and comforting against the back of her neck. Jemma drifted off feeling impossibly safe and protected.

She woke with his hand in her knickers. Clint was tracing circles around her clit, spreading wetness as his other hand caressed her breast. He'd unbuttoned her shirt and released her bra, pushed it out of the way so he could tease and roll her nipples in his fingers. She was lying beside him, his hands all over her, doing as he wanted with her.

"Oh, my God," Jemma whimpered. "_Yes_. Please."

"Come for me, angel," he murmured, licking delicately at her earlobe and then nipping it lightly. "I want to feel you tight round my fingers. I wanna hear that noise you make…"

"_Clint_," it was a low keen of his name as she shuddered, and he smiled, well pleased.

"Good girl," he praised softly, "there's my good girl, Jemma. You're so gorgeous when you come." He eased to lie down beside her and took his hand from her, licking his fingers deliberately. "And I fucking _adore_ the way you taste. I can't wait until I can take my time with you. Lick you out until you can't come any more, until I've got your juices all over my face."

"You have _such_ a filthy mouth," Jemma panted, still coming down from that ridiculously quick high he'd pushed her to.

"You like it, don't you?" he kissed her hungrily. "There's a passionate woman hiding under that prim exterior, I always suspected it. I'm very glad I was right about you." He eased from her bed, standing up. "I gotta go, if you don't want everyone to find out about us yet." He paused. Waiting.

"I…" It really wasn't fair for him to ask her that right after giving her such an amazing orgasm. "Not yet," she said finally. _I'd feel kind of slutty if they knew I fell into bed with you so fast_, she didn't say, but suspected he guessed what she was thinking.

"Whatever you want, Jemma." Clint stood still by the door for a long moment, eyes raking over her. "But don't think you can keep me as your dirty little secret. Even if you don't want your friends to know we're sleeping together yet, I'm going to make it blatantly obvious that I'm hitting on you." And he was gone.

"Oh, God," Jemma flopped back on her bed, hand over her eyes. What did _blatantly obvious_ mean? She had the awful feeling that this was going to be really embarrassing.

"We'll be landing in fifteen minutes," May's voice said crisply over the intercom. "Dress casual. It's hot down there in the desert and there'll be a lot of work to do."

Sighing, Jemma got out of bed and opened her small wardrobe. Tailored shorts and a plain T-shirt would have to do. She didn't have any more casual than that.

Dr. Foster's lab turned out to be a former car dealership on the outskirts of a very tiny, dusty town. No one turned a hair at a gigantic black plane vertically landing in the desert, which told Jemma that the townspeople here had already seen way too much weird shit. She followed May and Clint down the ramp and into the small lab, expecting to find a mess of equipment and mad scientists.

Instead, a pretty young dark-haired woman was competently nailing down the lid on one of a long row of packing crates, checking it off on a list attached to a clipboard when she was done. There was no one else present.

"Miss Lewis?" May said. The young woman jumped.

"Oh! Hi! You must be Agent May? Yes, I'm Darcy Lewis."

"Where's Dr. Foster, Darce?" Clint asked.

"On the roof, Hawkass." Darcy had obviously met Clint before, and was clearly quite comfortable with him, as she put down her hammer and came walking over, reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Jane said she wanted to see one last sunset."

"Of course." May and Clint glanced at each other, and then she headed for the ladder Jemma could see at the back of the dealership. Clint looked back at Darcy.

"Anything we can help you with, Darce?"

"I got it pretty well under control, I think," she looked around. "Oh, except that one." She gestured rather sheepishly at a large machine. "Couldn't get it off the table."

"It's bolted down," Fitz looked quickly under the machine. "Hang on. I'll get a spanner." He hurried back towards the plane.

"Clint?" came a voice from above. Jemma looked back towards the ladder to see a tiny, beautiful brunette clambering down. "It _is_ you! What are you doing here?" She hurried over and threw her arms around him, and he laughed, lifting her off her feet for a tight hug.

"What d'you think, Jane? Like Thor would trust your safety to just anyone."

"Of course," she said, and then let out a very inelegant snort. "The big lug. I don't know what he thinks is going to happen to me."

"Something he might not like. And we don't like making Thor angry. He's about as good at smashing things as Bruce."

Jane laughed, patted Clint's cheek fondly, and then let out a shout. "Don't you dare touch that!"

Fitz froze in the middle of unfastening the first bolt. "Er – it needs to be disassembled for transport, Dr. Foster, ma'am?"

"Huh," she walked over, snatched the wrench from his hand, and applied it herself. "Very delicate equipment – jackbooted thugs…" she started muttering to herself.

"Uh, Jane, let me introduce you," Clint said, suppressing laughter as Fitz stared at her wide-eyed. "This is Agent Leo Fitz."

"Wait," Jane stopped in the middle of unfastening the last bolt. "I've heard of you!"

"You have?" Fitz gulped nervously. "Really? Is it one of my inventions you've heard of?"

"No. It was Lady Sif, actually. She said she was impressed by you, that you were very clever."

The silence in the lab was broken by the thud of Fitz's body hitting the floor in a dead faint.

"Was it something I said?" Jane asked after a moment.

**Hehehe, just couldn't resist. Fitz does get crushes on women who are way out of his league, doesn't he? Poor kid. I might have to let Darcy take care of him…**


	10. I'm A Fake

**Chapter 10.**

Jemma and Darcy scraped Fitz off the floor, patting his cheeks to bring him round. May came down the ladder and gave them all one of her patented you-are-all-idiots stares.

"Uh, Darce?" Jane Foster said suddenly. She had carried on taking apart the machine and Clint lifted it carefully into another packing case for transport. "You m-might want to take a l-look at this." She seemed to be trying to suppress hysterical laughter.

Lying in a pile of dust bunnies and greasy, discarded nuts and bolts was an iPod Touch. Looked like 2010 model, Jemma estimated.

"Oh. My. God," Clint proclaimed. "Darcy Lewis. You owe Phil Coulson one _hell_ of an apology."

A few hours later, they were all in Puente Antiguo's only bar sharing platters of nachos and drinking mojitos. And Clint was deliberately and obviously flirting with Jemma. He'd asked Skye to swap seats with him, saying loudly it was because he wanted to sit next to her. He'd toasted her and called her 'the prettiest girl in this bar' which, considering present company, was quite a compliment. Darcy and Skye were whispering and snickering together, and Jemma just _knew_ they were talking about her.

Fitz hadn't quite got over his combined hero-worship of Jane Foster – who really was quite astoundingly beautiful in the flesh, Jemma could quite see how she'd caught Thor's eye – and stunned awe that the Lady Sif had not only remembered him but mentioned him to Jane! Too spooked to talk to Jane, he was just sitting silently staring at her. May and Jane sat opposite him, deep in conversation, and Skye and Darcy shared a booth with Clint and Jemma.

"A top up?" Clint held the pitcher towards Jemma's glass. His hard thigh was pressed against the length of hers, his left arm slung casually along the back of the booth lightly touching her shoulder occasionally.

"I've probably had enough," she said a little regretfully.

"Enough for what?" Clint grinned at her, and she couldn't help but blush. He was making no effort to keep his voice down or disguise his interest in her. Deliberately he picked up a lock of her hair – she'd left it down this evening, since they were going out – and rubbed it lightly between fingers and thumb.

"You have gorgeous hair, Jemma."

"It's mousy brown and straight as a stick," Jemma shook her head at him.

"And softer than silk." The backs of his fingers brushed oh-so-casually against her throat as he let her hair go, and Jemma completely failed to suppress a shiver of desire. "Like your skin." His voice dropped to an intimate, throaty rumble.

"Lucky, lucky bitch," Darcy sighed, quite loud enough for Jemma to hear. Skye broke up laughing. Jemma shot her a death glare. May peered across at them from the opposite booth, took in Jemma's red face and the way Clint was sitting close to her, deliberately crowding her against the wall.

May seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then she called; "You all right, Jemma? You look a bit flushed."

"I'm fine!" she called back brightly. Too chirpy, she thought, but she'd be damned if she was going to beg May to rescue her. It wasn't _actually_ possible to die from embarrassment anyway. Only to want to.

"You do look flushed. It's too warm in here," Clint said in faux-solicitous tones. "I'll take her outside for a bit, get some fresh air," he said cheerfully to May. And he took Jemma's hand, tugging her out of the booth and onto her feet.

Darcy and Skye collapsed in fresh gales of laughter. Fitz actually seemed to realise what was going on, and was obviously a bit torn between looking jealously at Clint and hero-worshipping him still.

"Do you want me to come with you, Jemma?" he asked.

"You haven't finished your drink, Fitz," she pointed out. "It's fine. I'm tired anyway, and Agent Barton can walk me back to the Bus." She shot a glare over her shoulder to where Skye was actually crying with laughter.

"Good night then," May said coolly.

Jane Foster looked intrigued, glancing from Clint to Jemma and back again, smirking slightly. "Mm. Sleep well, Clint," Jane said, raising an eyebrow.

"I intend to," he replied, grinning. He liked Jane. And she was _very_ good for Thor.

"I'm sure you will." Jane laughed when he winked at her.

"Oh, God, could you have made it any more obvious that you wanted to get me alone?" Jemma groaned as they emerged into the night. It was cold out now, and she shivered as goose-bumps sprang up on her skin.

"I could, if you wanted me to," Clint grinned down at her, saw her shivering, and immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Come on. Let's get you inside. You're cold."

"Don't you feel it?" she'd pulled on a jumper to go out, but he was still wearing only a sleeveless tee and his cargo pants.

"Not really." He obviously had one of the Bus remotes in his pocket, as the ramp lowered slowly when they walked up to it. "Part of Advanced Specialist training. You want to get past Level Five, you need to pass some pretty terrible tests under extreme environmental conditions."

She knew well enough that he wouldn't say any more than that, so as they went up the stairs, the ramp closing behind them, she asked something else that she was curious about. "How long have you known Agent May?"

"A long time." His mouth quirked when she narrowed her eyes at him. "We were at the Academy together."

"Seriously?" Jemma gaped. "How come? Your file says you're forty-three – I didn't think May was that old!"

He laughed a little bitterly. "She isn't. Oh God, I forgot about that. Yeah, my file's a massive fake, sweetheart."

"Of course," she murmured, the light dawning as he guided her to a seat in the lounge. "Agent Romanoff wouldn't have put your real S.H.I.E.L.D. file out there, would she?"

"She did, actually."

"What?" That didn't compute. "I – don't understand."

"My S.H.I.E.L.D. file was always a fake. Coulson and Fury faked my original entry records. Let's see – it said I entered the Academy aged twenty-six after seven years with the Army, one tour as a Ranger?"

"Something like that," Jemma frowned, trying to remember.

"Yeah, well, they had to explain how I got to be such a lethal sniper somehow, I suppose. Want the real story?"

"Hell yes!" She stared up at him with bright, eager eyes. He sat down beside her, lounging comfortably, slipping his arm around her waist.

"I was only eighteen when I joined S.H.I.E.L.D., Jemma."

"But where _did_ you get to be such a good sniper, then?" Jemma asked, bemused. "And the archery – in your file it said you were a Junior Olympian…"

"I know, but they couldn't retrospectively give me any medals." He pouted slightly. "As if I'd have lost!"

"You're really not making any sense." _Everything_ Jemma thought she knew about Clint Barton couldn't be wrong. _Could it?_

"I learned to shoot a bow in the circus."

"The – _circus_?"

"Oddly enough, the circus teaches you many of the same skills as the Army Rangers. Survival being the primary one. Physical strength, agility, teamwork." For a long moment he was silent, his blue-green eyes far away. "I was orphaned aged six. My brother Barney – he was nine – and I ended up in an orphanage. We refused to be separated and no foster family wanted the pair of us because we were right little shits. The orphanage was hell so when the circus came through town, we ran away and joined. Did odd jobs in return for table scraps and a place to sleep – in with the horses."

Jemma's mouth was open with horrified shock. Clint's slight smile twisted into something that just looked tired. "One of the main acts was an archer. Trickshot. He wanted an apprentice. Picked me because I was quick with my hands and had a good eye. By the time I was eleven, I was The Amazing Hawkeye, the boy archer who never missed. Cutting a really long story short, my brother and Trickshot were dirty. Stealing from Carson, the owner. I caught them and they tried to kill me."

"Wait – your _brother_ tried to kill you?" Jesus, and she'd thought _Ward's_ betrayal was bad!

His eyes never left hers. "I've spent my whole life being betrayed, Jemma. My father. My brother, my first mentor. Long before S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA. I was seriously injured: the circus bosses abandoned me in hospital and when I got out, I was all alone with nothing but my wits to survive on. By the time I was fourteen I was a killer for hire, and I believed the whole human race was rotten through, because there wasn't a single person in the world who had ever actually given a shit about me. I didn't care who I killed. But an assassin with a bow and arrows is too easy to identify; trackable by his kills. I'd learned knives, too. Swords. I fell in with a crew who knew guns and taught me those."

"What – what happened?" Jemma whispered, in complete shock. "How did you change sides?"

"Coulson," Clint said simply. "Phil Coulson happened. What, did you really think Skye was the first one he recruited to the side of the angels? He saw something in me worth saving and he did. Even after I stabbed him."

"_Say again?_"

"Another long story – one I can't share, I'm afraid." Clint pulled her closer in to his side. "But at the end of the day, he and Fury faked my record and put me into Operations. Made me a Specialist. Made me into _their_ killer."

**I messed a little bit with Clint's story here. If his real file had hit the Net Jemma would already know everything important about him and I wanted that not to be the case. This is what happens when plot sneaks up on me…**

**Hope you are all still enjoying and please keep commenting, writers live for reviews!**


	11. The Ugly Truth

**Chapter 11.**

What could you possibly say when the man who'd made passionate love to you only hours earlier, the man who was widely acknowledged to be one of Earth's Greatest Heroes – when he told you that everything you thought you knew about him was a lie?

And then Jemma looked in his eyes and saw that it _wasn't_ a lie. Clint was still Hawkeye. He was still the only unenhanced human who had stood tall and fought the Chitauri in New York. Fought to save all of humanity, the race he had said he once despised as rotten even though he was one of them. He was still the man Phil Coulson trusted to help rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D., to protect Phil's 'family' on the Bus.

"If this changes things between you and me," Clint said quietly, "so be it. But I'm not going to try to build any kind of relationship with you on a foundation made up of lies and bullshit stories. My truth is fucking ugly, Jemma. It's made me what I am today and it shapes the way I look at the world. I trust very, very few people to have my back."

She nodded, understanding, but so choked with grief for him she couldn't speak. A tear slipped from her eye and rolled down her cheek. More welled.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He closed his eyes for a moment, looking absolutely devastated, and when he opened them, he let go of her and stood up, that emotionless mask sliding over his features. "Agent Simmons," he said, his voice cold and hard. "Get some rest. We'll be up at dawn to start loading the Bus."

"No!" Jemma shot to her feet. He'd misunderstood her tears. Thought that she felt betrayed by him, instead of understanding how much she grieved _for_ him.

"Agent Simmons, I gave you an order."

She threw herself at him. Flung her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and started kissing him with everything she had. Because her quick brain had processed everything and realised that by telling her the truth, he was telling her that _she_ was one of the few people he trusted. And if he could trust her – she could certainly put her trust in _him_.

"_Jemma_," Clint groaned against her lips. He could have fended her off easily enough, indeed his combat reflexes had nearly thrown her across the room, but he could never hurt her. His brain overrode his instinctive action just fast enough to let her throw herself on him, and then he realised what she wanted.

"Shut up and kiss me!"

He was obeying her order with alacrity, kissing her about as thoroughly as she'd ever been kissed, when they were interrupted with a loud wolf-whistle.

"Fuck off, Skye!" Clint turned his head, though he didn't loosen his arms from around Jemma.

"It's not me making with the public displays of affection…" Skye seemed to be considering what nickname to call him. "AB."

Jemma leaned against Clint's chest, tightening her arms around him. "Don't care," she murmured softly, "if the whole world knows."

Clint made a low, hungry sound deep in his throat, and Skye theatrically put her hands over her eyes. "Please don't have sex on that couch. I'll never be able to sit there again. And if you don't want everyone else to know what the two of you are up to, May and Fitz are about a minute behind me."

_Fitz_. Her best friend's name was the one thing that gave Jemma pause. She looked up at Clint: his eyes questioned her, showing her clearly that it was her decision to make.

"Not yet," she said after a moment, and he sighed and loosened his arms around her.

"Go, then, go to bed."

"Skye…?" Jemma said as she stepped back from Clint.

"Oh, my lips are sealed. And AB can keep them that way for as long as the two of you want with one little promise…" Skye inspected her fingernails and tried to look innocent.

"Oh yeah, what do you want?" Clint raised an eyebrow, shooing Jemma towards the sleeping quarters gently.

"I've always wanted to meet Captain America."

Jemma heard a shout of laughter, and glanced back over her shoulder to see a genuine grin on Clint's face. "That can be arranged!" he told Skye. "He might not be at the Tower tomorrow, though. But I promise I'll make it happen."

"You got a deal, AB." Skye offered her hand, and they shook on it.

"May already knows," Clint told Skye, once Jemma's door had closed behind her. "And I'm not fond of secrets within teams, so Fitz will likely know well before I get the opportunity to introduce you to Steve. I think Jemma will want to tell him herself, though, so keep your mouth shut."

"I wouldn't really tell on you. It would hurt Jemma. She's like the sister I never had." Skye looked up at him earnestly, very much wanting him to believe her. Agent Barton inspired trust, and it was very obvious to her why he was one of the Avengers, quite apart from his phenomenal skills. There was a _solidity_ to him, a feeling that he would see the job done no matter what it cost him. She'd only ever met one other person with the ability to make her believe in them like that. She wondered if Barton had learned it from Coulson, or if it came naturally to both of them.

"I know you wouldn't," He put a hand on her shoulder and, to her surprise, guided her to the command centre. "I can see how close you and Jemma are. But I'll introduce you to Steve anyway, since you asked so nicely."

"Good," she blushed a bit. "He was one of my childhood heroes, you know? I grew up watching that awesome TV series in the late nineties, _Captain America and the Howling Commandos_. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, they were the two all the other kids in the orphanage wanted to be."

"A tomboy, were you? Why am I not surprised?" Clint laughed quietly to himself. "So did you want to be Steve or Bucky?"

"Usually Bucky, actually. He was never just the sidekick, you know? He took care of Steve when Steve needed him, even after the serum, Bucky was there for him. He was the team leader, and he never resented Steve coming in, just had his back all the way. I cried for about a week after the episode where Bucky fell off the train. It was the saddest thing ever."

"Yeah," Clint gnawed on his lip. Another secret to keep from his team. Well, this one wasn't his to tell. So he put on a smile and handed Skye a USB stick. "Here. This is for you."

"What is it?" she eyed him curiously.

"Something you should have been given access to a long time ago." He smiled, turning to head back out, hearing May and Fitz come in. "Don't stay up all night." He hadn't gone far enough to avoid hearing her squeal of joy after she plugged the stick into her laptop and found out what was on it.

"Clint," May cocked an eyebrow at him when he caught up with them in the lounge. "What was that?"

"Gave Skye the codes."

Fitz was looking around. "Where's Jemma?"

"Gone to bed, Fitz. Get some rest yourself. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."

"Yessir. I mean, Clint. Oh, hell." Fitz looked embarrassed again.

"You'll get used to it, Fitz. Come on, you've known me for years."

"Yes, and you've always been my superior officer!"

"He doesn't bite," May said, smiling slightly.

"Yes I do."

"Oh, yeah, I'd forgotten that!" May laughed. "The first time we sparred in training together," she told Fitz, who was staring at them with fascination as they bantered together, "I took him down and thought I had him pinned. And he bit me _on my ass,_ so hard I had teethmarks there for three weeks. I still think that contributed to my divorce," she poked Clint in the ribs. He only laughed at her.

"Taught you not to leave any body parts in range of an opponent's teeth though, didn't it? All your fancy martial arts teachers didn't point that out."

"He fights _dirty_," May pointed at Clint, heading towards the stairs up to her office suite. "I'm warning you now."

"Why would I need warning?" Fitz turned to Clint apprehensively.

"Events of the last few months have clearly demonstrated both you and Jemma need better self-defence training. I'm gonna take care of that."

It was an inarguable statement, even though Fitz didn't like it at all. His shoulders sagged and he nodded glumly, heading for his cubicle. "Good night, sir. Clint! Shit."

"Good night, Fitz."

Clint waited until Fitz had closed his door before heading to Jemma's cubicle. He'd been rock-hard since the moment she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, showed him that she didn't care about his past. He spared a moment to be grateful that he'd thought to wear loose cargo pants tonight or someone might have got the wrong impression. He scratched quietly at Jemma's door.

**Question: Would you prefer to see Skye matched with Steve or with Bucky? Please let me know in the comments!**


	12. Keeping Quiet

**Chapter 12.**

"I didn't think you'd come," was all Jemma could think to say, stupidly, when the door slid back and she saw him standing there.

"Really?" Clint lifted a doubting brow. And then he moved forward, edging Jemma back towards her bed, closing the door and latching it shut. "I will always come for you, Jemma," he said, and there was something in his voice that made her tilt her head curiously. "Always."

"Don't be a creepy stalker again now," she reproved. "The only reason I've let that slide is, well…"

"I made it up to you in a suitable manner?" he suggested with a smirk.

"Temporarily," Jemma said, "until I've figured out just how long you've been stalking me."

"Why don't you just ask me? I've already promised I won't have secrets from you. Occasional S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets, perhaps, but no personal ones."

"All right, then, so how long have you been stalking me?" Jemma's breath caught in her throat as she realised he had backed her up against the wall, his big hands coming up on either side of her, caging her in his arms even though he wasn't touching her.

"Stalking's such a harsh word. I told you, I've had my eye on you for a long time. First time I saw you was at the Academy, that time I came to get my Taser arrows from Fitz. I don't think you even saw me, you just barged into his lab all excited because you'd figured out some problem that had been bugging the two of you. You started babbling pure science and I – well, I was _intrigued_." He lowered his head to taste very lightly at the side of her neck, just below her ear, and Jemma found herself shivering slightly.

"I've kept an eye out for you since then. Saw you in New York after the invasion, gathering up Chitauri parts and tech. I was delighted when I heard you were picked for Coulson's team."

"I thought the Avengers weren't supposed to know about Coulson?" Jemma objected.

Clint let out a snort. "Don't be ridiculous. While I was temporarily dropped back to Level 6 after New York, you lot were wandering around in plain sight at the Hub within a few weeks of the team being formed. I've been an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. for seventeen years, you think in all that time I haven't made any friends who owed me a little loyalty?"

"May," Jemma realised. "She probably told you even before the Bus first took off."

"She did," Clint's mouth tightened. "She asked my advice on the team members, the team dynamic. That sort of thing has never been her strong point. I was the one who recommended Ward, for which decision I will spend the rest of my life berating myself."

"You couldn't have known," Jemma couldn't help but reach out to him, laying her fingers gently against his cheek, trying to smooth the rigidness in his expression. "_Nobody_ knew."

"He almost killed you," Clint said hoarsely. "Almost killed you before I ever had the chance to be with you… I would never have forgiven myself, Jemma. Never."

"You don't have to," Jemma stroked her fingers lightly over his jaw, slid down his neck, caressed his broad shoulders lightly, and then, a little shyly, moved down to his biceps. Tentatively she squeezed, and Clint glanced down and grinned.

"See something you like, Jemma?" his voice was low and husky. And then he deliberately leant in closer, flexing his biceps under her hands. "Something you _want_?"

Honestly, the man made all of her brains seem to dribble out of her head. Especially when he spoke like that. Because Jemma wanted – _everything_. Deliberately, she sank her nails into the rock-hard flesh under her hands, heard him take in a harsh breath, and then he was leaning in, his mouth brushing lightly over hers at first before coming down in a hungry, almost bruising kiss. Which she returned, with interest.

"I need you," he breathed against her mouth a few head-spinning minutes later. "I _want_ you, Jemma, I am fucking _crazy_ to have you right now. Please."

"I – I don't want anyone else to hear us," she whispered shyly.

Clint grinned, slow and filthy. "I'll make sure no one can hear us."

"How...?" Jemma began, and then she gaped as he moved away from her, confidently opened her wardrobe and plucked out a silk scarf. "Okay, now you're freaking me out."

"I came in here earlier to fetch you some clean things, remember? Looked in the wardrobe because I wasn't sure where you kept your stuff, saw the scarf. I did think about tying you up with it. But that might make you too noisy, so perhaps another time."

Jemma was scarlet with embarrassment. And – arousal. The thought of being tied down while Clint did whatever he wanted to her…

"You have a private apartment in Avengers Tower?" she blurted.

"Yeah. We'll be there tomorrow evening. Might stay a day or two." He smiled slowly, running the scarf through his fingers. And then he deftly looped a knot in the middle of it. "Bite down on this, sweetheart, if you feel the urge to make a lot of noise." He pressed the knot gently against her lips, arching an eyebrow questioningly. She opened her mouth after a moment, reasoning that he was only doing what she'd asked. She'd still be able to make some noise, let him know if there was anything he was doing that she didn't like. He was gently tying the scarf behind her head. It wasn't tight enough to pull on her jaw, but firm enough to not fall out of her mouth.

"Okay, sweetheart?" Clint asked, and she nodded. "All right, then. God," he moved back and looked her up and down, "you're so fucking beautiful. Let me take care of you, darling. I want to make you feel so good…" his fingers trailed down her throat, pausing above the swell of her breast. "Don't be nervous of me, Jemma," he said softly, and she realised he was feeling her thunderous pulse. She shook her head.

"Not nervous," she tried to say though the gag, but it came out "Noh ner uh."

"Ah," he smiled, a predator's flash of teeth. "Excitement, then."

She only watched him from wide eyes, thinking that perhaps she _was_ a little bit nervous, because she really had no idea what he planned to do. She'd changed for bed, yoga pants and a tank top with spaghetti straps. He plucked the hem of the top upwards, his eyes on hers, checking that she was okay with what he was doing.

Oh boy, was she ever okay with what he was doing. Clint's hands were warm, strong, his fingers rough-textured but his touch gentle. He lifted her top right up, and she raised her arms to let him pull it off over her head. Only when it passed over her eyes did he break eye contact, and then she saw he was staring at her breasts. A little shy, she went to cross her arms over them, but he caught her wrists lightly, holding both her hands in one of his just above her head.

"Don't hide from me, Jemma. You are so beautiful," his eyes roamed over her.

She couldn't help but duck her head shyly. "No." _I'm not beautiful_, she meant.

"Oh, sweetheart," he let out a soft laugh. "You are so very wrong about that. Look at me."

Slowly, Jemma lifted her eyes to his. And in his face, she saw that he truly did find her beautiful. There was awe in his expression, lust and tenderness combined. His free hand came up to touch her cheek gently, caressing her jaw.

"I see," Clint said softly, "an amazingly beautiful woman. Brilliant, courageous, determined. Do you not know yourself, Jemma?"

She could only stare up at him in amazement, and he smiled wryly. "Let me _show_ you what I see."

He released her hands, letting them drop to her sides before gentle fingers trailed down her throat, and she sucked in a shuddering breath as his other hand moved quickly, suddenly flicking at her nipple. It was unexpected, and she jerked as a sudden shock of pleasure raced through her.

"A passionate woman," Clint murmured softly in her ear, tasting lightly at her earlobe, "who is still learning about her own body's needs and desires." Both his hands were on her breasts now, drawing circles around her nipples, investigating just how she liked to be touched. His mouth was on her neck, exploring the tender spots there, and Jemma's knees sagged, no longer able to hold her up. Clint laughed darkly and lifted her in his arms, lowering her to the bed.

"Can't stand up, sweetheart?"

She shook her head, reaching for him with eager hands, and he let her pull his shirt off and trace her hands wonderingly over his chest and shoulders.

"Glad to know all that time I spend in the gym isn't wasted," Clint said softly, a laugh in his voice, and Jemma grinned behind the gag, making appreciative noises. He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he reached for her yoga pants, sliding them gently off her hips, lifting her butt in his hands to work them down her thighs. And then she was lying nude before him. He paused, taking his time to look her over, catching her hands gently with his own when she tried to cover herself shyly.

"Let me look at you. Please." He met her eyes until she slowly moved her hands away. And then she pointed at him.

"You oo," she said through the gag.

"You want to see me too?" Clint looked pleased, and when Jemma nodded vigorously, stood and removed his clothes, standing upright and still for her to look as much as she wanted.

Jemma sighed in appreciation. Clint was a work of art, every muscle defined by sheer hard work. He didn't have the sculpted perfection of a bodybuilder, but rather the all-around brawn of someone who put maximum effort into everything he did. She'd felt the benefit of all that muscle earlier when he held her up against the wall.

His chest hair was the same dark blond as the hair on his head, not particularly thick, trailing down his muscled stomach in a narrow line to his groin, where his cock stood thick and proudly at attention.

After a long moment, Clint shifted a bit uncomfortably. He was enjoying looking at Jemma, propped up on one elbow on her bed, her lovely body exposed to his gaze, but she was staring at his cock, her eyes wide, and hadn't looked away. "Sweetheart?" he moved a little closer, put a finger under her chin and tipped her head up to look at him. "You all right? If you've changed your mind…"

Well, it might kill him, but he'd put his clothes on and leave her, if that's what she wanted.

"No!" Jemma squawked through the gag, and saw him smile. She sat up on the bed and reached for him. "Please, Clint – I want you." The words came out garbled, but he understood her well enough, moving closer, letting her reach to touch that magnificent cock. A drop of pre-cum beaded on the tip, and she gathered it and used it to lubricate his shaft, pumping her hand fast a couple of times until he let out a low, guttural sound and pounced, shoving her back on the bed.

Eagerly, Jemma reached up her arms, putting them around Clint's neck, pulling him towards her.

"Hang on a minute, sweetheart," he grinned slightly at her eagerness. "You're not ready for me yet. And I need to get dressed, eh?" He pressed on the hidden panel by the bed, which slid up to reveal – not condoms. Instead, out fell Jemma's secret vice.

A 1970's vintage paperback romance novel.

**BWAHAHAHAH. You totally thought that was going to be a battery-operated boyfriend, didn't you? No, no, I always go for the comedy value. So what do you think Hawkeye's reaction will be?**

**Incidentally, the results of my little poll are as follows (and bear in mind I collated results from Fanfiction, Ao3 and a few folks who messaged me direct):**

**Skye/Steve: 6 votes**

**Skye/Bucky: 4 votes**

**Skye/Natasha: 1 vote (thanks, Serena, like I needed another plot bunny!)**

**Steve/Bucky: 1 vote – to the Guest who wrote that, WHAT PLANET ARE YOU ON? You said there aren't many Stucky stories out there? It's like, one of the most popular ships out there, right up with FrostIron and Stony! Get onto Ao3 and you can read explicit Stucky for the next 10 years!**

**Anyway, Skye/Steve wins out so that's what I'm gonna write. I may do a Skye/Bucky later (they'd be kinda cute together) as a separate one-shot, so you can always follow/favourite me as a writer if you'd like to see that.**


	13. Explanations Can Wait

**Chapter 13.**

"Oh my God!" Jemma snatched the book and stuffed it hastily under the pillow behind her back. Clint had seen exactly what it was, though, and let out a guffaw of laughter. Jemma kneed him in the chest, making him move back, still laughing.

"Oh, stop it!" Jemma pulled off the gag and glared at him. "We all have our guilty pleasures, all right, mine is really crap old romance novels. Yours is apparently stalking girls you like!"

He suppressed the laughter successfully, though his eyes still glittered with mirth. "Only one girl, sweetheart. Honest. I've only ever stalked you."

"Really?" she forgot to be annoyed and embarrassed, with that sincere note in his voice. "Is that really true?"

He nodded, ducking his head almost shyly, sitting down beside her on the bed and tracing his fingers almost absently over her flat stomach. "Yeah. And technically I daresay you could call it stalking, though I certainly never intended you any harm. I just wanted to keep an eye on you. Make sure you were okay. Happy with your choices."

Jemma just melted. She put her hand over his, squeezing his fingers gently. "I'm very glad you decided to stalk me. And I'm very glad that my choices have led us here, right this moment." She brought his hand to her breast, giving him a mischievous smile. "Now put those magic hands to good use, Clint. And kiss me. I'd rather your tongue in my mouth keeping me quiet than that scarf."

There wasn't much he could do but obey, especially since his thought processes were thoroughly compromised with the way her breast felt under his hand. He brought his mouth down to hers, kissing her slowly, lingeringly, taking his time to find out what she liked, dancing a duel of tongues, pausing occasionally to let her catch her breath and listen to her soft moans as his fingers explored her breasts. She was sensitive, stiffening slightly with pain if he used too much pressure on her nipples. Soon, though, he discovered just what she liked and set to driving her absolutely crazy.

"Clint," Jemma moaned in the end, "please."

"Please what, sweetheart?" he'd slid down the bed and started using his mouth as well as his hands on her breasts. His body between her legs, elbows braced on the mattress keeping the majority of his weight off her while she ran her fingers through his hair.

"More. I want," she stopped to lick her lips, and then let out another little gasp as he used his teeth to very lightly bite at her nipple, "I want you to fuck me."

"I know you do, sweetheart." She'd been trying to grind her hips against him for the last several minutes, but her pelvis was pinned in place by his heavy ribcage. He'd sensed her increasing frustration, was just waiting for her to tell him what she wanted. "Not just yet. We've got all night. No hurry." Picking up the knotted scarf she'd discarded, he pressed it into her hands. "Here. You might yet need this." And he slid lower, looking up at her with a wicked grin as her eyes widened.

"Clint, I – ohhhh," she trailed off in a hissed sigh, and then to his amusement, lifted the scarf to her mouth and bit down on the knot. He kept watching her as he licked slowly, tracing his tongue delicately over her folds, taking his time to learn everything about her. She was wet already, dripping with honey, and he lapped thirstily, drinking her in, letting out soft little sounds of need of his own as her cries increased.

Jemma could feel it coming, feel the muscles of her core starting to tighten, and she bit down hard on the gag and keened as Clint suddenly drove a hard finger deep inside her, thrusting it in perfect time with his rhythmic sucking on her clit. Her back bowed, shoving her pelvis hard against his face, and he grasped her hip with his free hand and held her there, fingers and tongue never letting up as he prolonged her shattering climax expertly.

Eventually Jemma let out a moan and pushed feebly at his shoulder with her knee; he moved back, grinning, slipping his fingers out of her.

"You all right, sweetheart?"

"Umm," she mumbled, spitting the gag out again. "Give me a moment."

Gentle fingers stroked her stomach and thighs as he sat back on his heels, watching her. "You're so beautiful like this," Clint murmured. "I feel like the luckiest guy in the world."

Jemma smiled, her eyes still closed, soaking in the warm waves of pleasure still slowly rolling through her. "Well you're about to get even luckier." She scrabbled in a different hidden compartment and held out a condom packet, smiling at him.

Clint's eyes darkened as he took the foil square from her fingers and ripped it open. "What do you want, Jemma? Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"Not this time," Jemma watched as he rolled the condom on, letting out a slight gasp. "All you've done so far is ask me what I want and give me a fantastic time. What do _you_ want, Clint? I want to please you, too," she blushed a little shyly, but he looked unbelievably pleased that she'd asked.

"God, Jemma, you are just the perfect woman," he muttered, making her blush deepen, and then he reached for her. "Come ride me. I want to see those beautiful breasts bouncing in my face."

Clint lay back, pulling Jemma atop him. She came very willingly, her hands tracing over his shoulder and chest muscles admiringly, kissing him back eagerly when he reached for her mouth. She let out a little gasp as the blunt head of his cock butted at her opening, and Clint put one hand to her head, sliding his fingers into her hair, and held her still so he could keep kissing her, swallowing her cries as he pressed slowly up into her.

Jemma was almost delirious with pleasure by the time Clint was finally fully sheathed inside her, shuddering and moaning above him as he steadied her hips with his free hand. Her knees clamped tight to his sides and her back bowed again. "Please oh please oh please…" she gabbled against his throat.

"Yes," Clint groaned, going a little out of his mind as slick internal muscles gripped him tightly. "Oh, sweetheart, you're so tight."

"_Please_," Jemma sobbed, trying frantically to move, to thrust her hips against him. "Clint I _need_ it, I need _you_, oh _please_…"

Realising how close she was, Clint let go his inhibitions and brought both hands to Jemma's hips, lifting her and then slamming her back down against him as he jerked his own hips up. She let out a small squeal and he kissed her, swallowing the sounds she let out as he drove her mercilessly onwards. Her short nails clawed at his shoulders as he pumped a little harder, and a guttural sound escaped Clint's throat.

He felt ridiculously good inside her, Jemma decided; she'd never experienced anything that remotely compared. And he certainly knew how to use what nature had blessed him with, tilting and grinding his hips against her in a motion that created an utterly exquisite friction. He kept kissing her too, hot and filthy, his tongue playing with hers.

She might be on top, but she certainly wasn't in control, Jemma realised, as Clint suddenly pulled his head back.

"That's it, sweetheart," he said huskily, "right there… oh, yes, come _now_, Jemma, now!"

She wasn't sure if he was just really good at judging how close to the edge she actually was, or if something in her body responded to the command, but she was indeed coming, spasms ripping through her, crying out against his hard, seeking mouth. And then vaguely, distantly, she heard Clint let out a low groan of her name as he jerked hard against her, his hands tightening on her hips not quite to the point of pain.

Clint groaned again and collapsed back, taking Jemma with him so she lay on his chest. She sighed contentedly and tucked her head under his chin. Her internal muscles still spasmed occasionally and every time, he would stiffen and let out a little gasp. One big hand came up to smooth over her hair, the other stroked her lower back gently.

"You okay, Jemma?" Clint asked softly eventually. She'd gone so limp and relaxed he was half-worried she might have fallen asleep astride him.

"Ummm," she sighed happily, nuzzling at his chest. "A lot better than just okay."

"Good." He kissed the top of her head. "You need to get off me for a minute so I can dispose of this rubber, sorry…"

Jemma sighed, but crawled off and flopped onto the bed face-first. A few moments later she felt Clint ease back down beside her, putting his arm over her, and she snuggled back up against him.

"This bed's pretty small," he said softly, "and while I can sleep anywhere, will I disturb your sleep if I stay with you?"

"Only in a good way," she tipped her head to smile up at him cheekily. He laughed quietly, putting his arms around her and pulling her head to lie on his chest. And then one hand dipped under the pillow.

"Shall I read you a bedtime story?"

Cheeks scalding, Jemma attempted to snatch the book from his grasp. "Don't! Oh, God, how embarrassing."

"I'd really never picked you for the Mills and Boon type," Clint said, amused, holding the book away from her flailing hand easily. "So – want to explain?"

Jemma sighed and gave up trying to grab the book. "They're _easy_. An opportunity to completely switch my brain off and not think for a little while. I read them when I'm trying to get to sleep and my brain is going a million miles an hour on some problem I'm trying to solve."

His face softened. "Ah, a cure for insomnia." He handed the book back. "Does it work for you?"

"Yes, actually, it's so mindless I'm usually asleep in fifteen minutes," Jemma admitted, putting the book back into the hidden panel. "The plots are always very contrived and the characters so brainless they put me right to sleep. Like talking to someone unbelievably boring."

"Maybe I should borrow one next time I can't get to sleep," Clint murmured, and Jemma put her arm across his chest and hugged him tightly.

"How about next time you can't get to sleep you just come and see me instead and I can wear you out?" she tried to purr it sexily, and decided she'd succeeded when he tipped her head back for a kiss.

"I will definitely take you up on that," Clint promised, smiling at Jemma's attempt at being a sex kitten. She sounded like a prim English librarian reading from a book. And if he wasn't already drained, he'd have been thoroughly turned on again. "Right now, get some sleep, beautiful girl."

Jemma cuddled closer against Clint's chest – he was delightfully warm. With the plane on the ground the air-conditioning was off and the New Mexico desert night was _cold_. But here in her tiny cubicle, they were warm and cozy as they drifted off to sleep curled tightly together.

**Awwww, CUTE! They're so cute together! And steamy! Phew, it's definitely warm in here…**


	14. The Misuse Of Laboratory Equipment

**Chapter 14.**

Jemma woke cold and alone, as May banged on her door.

"Look alive, Simmons!"

"Yes, Agent May!" she shouted back, clambering out of bed, letting out a slight hiss of breath as her thighs and hips protested the movement. Gathering her dressing-gown, she headed for the bathroom, knowing May would have woken her because it was her turn. Which meant everyone else was already up.

Clint was just coming out of the bathroom as she got there, towelling off his freshly-shaven chin. He gave her a slow smile, and Jemma suddenly felt deeply boring in her plain blue towelling robe. Clint, on the other hand, bare-chested and freshly showered, wearing only those black cargo pants that clung to his lean hips, was so sexy he should be illegal. She couldn't help but stop and stare, her eyes raking over him.

"You saw it all last night," he said in a low, amused voice, "but I'm happy to give you a show any time you like." And he deliberately flexed his chest and arm muscles, _rippling_ deliciously and making Jemma's mouth go dry. Heaven knows what she might have done then except that she heard footsteps approaching behind her – and the only person on the plane who walked loudly enough to be heard, apart from herself, was Fitz. So she gave Clint one smouldering look and walked past him into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.

When Jemma emerged, pink-cheeked and scrubbed clean, dressed casually again as they had to load the plane this morning, it was to find Clint making breakfast in the small kitchen. Despite the limited space, he had managed to whip up scrambled eggs and bacon, the smell delicious in the confined space.

"He cooks, too," mouth full, Skye nudged Jemma as she sat down. "Man's a keeper."

"Oh, shush," Jemma smiled up at Clint as he put a filled plate in front of her with a warm smile. "Thank you, Clint, this looks delicious."

"Got to keep your strength up," he said blandly. Skye choked. "We've got a lot of work to do this morning, Jemma, you'll need your energy."

Jemma smacked Skye on the back, refusing to meet Clint's eyes. "How very thoughtful. Breathe, Skye. Did a crumb go down the wrong way?"

After eating – and Clint even cleaned up – they headed down to find Fitz and May already working on stowing some of the smaller cases, checking everything off against Darcy's list as they did so. Darcy was apparently helping Jane pack her personal items in the RV, because a little while later they emerged looking harassed and dragging suitcases.

It was a long, difficult, sweaty morning. But Jemma could have cared less, because she got to spend most of it staring at Clint, who stripped his shirt off again casually once he got warm and then did all the heavy lifting apparently without effort. He would call her over regularly to assist him in tying down a crate and checking it off, often surreptitiously touching her, several times snatching a kiss when no-one else was in view. Jemma was utterly flustered by the time they'd finished loading, and she was fairly sure that all the women, at least, knew what she and Clint were up to, although Fitz still seemed oblivious.

At last they were finished and ready to leave. Jane asked to look through the lab, so Jemma and Fitz took her through after takeoff while Skye escorted Darcy upstairs to the lounge. Clint leaned on one of the lab benches, arms folded over his still-bare chest. Jemma couldn't help but sneak looks at him continually, and his slight smile told her that he was well aware of her scrutiny.

"Thank you so much, Jemma and Fitz," Jane said at last. "What a fascinating lab. You're very lucky to have such facilities."

"Nothing to what you'll have at Avengers Tower, I understand, Dr Foster," Fitz said shyly.

"Well, I hope so. And on that note, I understand you have a good communications suite here, Fitz? If you'll escort me there, I'd like to place a video call to Tony Stark. I could introduce you, if you like. I'm sure he'd be interested to hear about that device you're working on…"

Jemma had heard Fitz badmouth Tony Stark and his arrogance more times than she cared to count. But offered the opportunity to actually talk to the genius, his eyes went round and he nodded shyly. Jane cast an indecipherable look at Clint, smiled at Jemma and led Fitz out of the lab.

The glass doors had barely whooshed shut behind them when Clint moved, grabbing Jemma's waist and lifting her to sit on her lab bench, nuzzling into her throat, his hands slipping under her shirt. She grabbed back at him just as eagerly, running her fingers over all that heavy muscle she'd been staring at all morning, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him closer.

"God, you're sexy, Jemma," Clint panted urgently. "The way you've been looking at me all morning…"

"You've been wandering around flashing all that muscle," she protested breathily as he tugged off her T-shirt and unsnapped her bra. Then they were chest to chest, her nipples hardening eagerly as the scruff of his chest hair scraped over them. "We can't – someone could come in," Jemma gasped, but she wasn't making any move to resist as Clint unbuttoned her shorts and lifted her to ease them off, along with her underwear. She let out a little gasp as he set her back down on the cold steel lab table.

"No one's going to come in," he growled, unfastening his belt and fishing in his pocket for protection. "Skye and Darcy will be stuck into the booze by now, and Cav and Jane will keep Fitz busy. Now come here." A few swift strokes with his fingers and she was sopping wet, ready for him, hooking her ankles behind his back and dragging him close. Perched on the table she was at the perfect height for him to push into her and take her slow and deep, kissing her hungrily.

Jemma kissed him back just as fiercely, her nails scraping at his scalp and the back of his neck as she held him close, making him groan with pleasure. "Oh, God, _yeah_," he moaned as he slid deep, "what you do to me, Jemma – fuck, that feels _amazing_."

"Yes," Jemma gasped, "aaahhh!" as he grasped her bottom in massive hands and slammed hard into her. "Again!" she demanded, and Clint obeyed, even harder this time, making her eyes almost roll back in her skull. She took her hands from him and put them behind her, angling her body back and bracing herself on the bench to give him even greater leverage. "_Harder_."

Clint looked down, at her breasts arched up towards him, at where he could see their bodies joined. "Oh, hell, yes," he groaned. "Tell me if it's too much…" and he slammed against her with everything he had.

Jemma let out one of those little keens he'd come to recognise meant she was approaching orgasm and tightened her legs further, which he correctly interpreted as '_do that again right now'_ and obeyed with alacrity. Within a minute her eyes rolled back in her head as she came, and Clint, who had been holding off his own orgasm by sheer willpower, let go and cried out her name as he thrust hard one last time, spurting hotly deep inside her as she clamped down on him.

"Well," Jemma blinked the world back into focus, finding that Clint had gathered her to him and was pressing gentle kisses against her neck and shoulder. "That was a first."

"What was?" he eased back from her with a grin, disposing of the condom into her Biohazards bin and pulling his trousers back up.

"A new use for my lab bench." Jemma hopped down and started gathering her clothes. She couldn't find her bra for a few minutes, and then saw it flung all the way across the lab. Clint followed her line of sight and fetched it for her.

"Sorry. Guess I might have gotten a bit too enthusiastic there."

"Don't you dare apologise," she smiled up at him, putting her clothes back on and smoothing her hair. "I don't think I'll ever be able to work in here again without thinking of you, and that's just the way you wanted it, isn't it?"

"You're getting to know me quite well, Jemma," he complimented, putting an arm around her waist and guiding her to the lab doors. "Come on. Let's join the others. I'm starving, let's go have lunch."

Jemma helped Clint prepare sandwiches for everyone, once again impressed with his culinary skills, staring a little wide-eyed as he sliced a tomato into wafer-thin slices with flashing speed. "I suppose that really shouldn't surprise me," she said a bit dryly as he reached for another.

"The knife skills?" Clint grinned at her. "I'm more than just a sniper, you know. There was a guy called Swordsman with the circus. Taught me a lot about knives and blades of all kinds."

"A man of hidden talents," Jemma said, assembling the tomato slices into the sandwiches. Clint flipped the top layers on and used another knife to slice them into beautifully neat triangles.

"Oh, you're only just beginning to discover the depths of my talents, sweetheart," one eyelid dipped in a lazy wink, and then he scooped up the platter of sandwiches and headed into the lounge. "Lunch up, everyone. Skye, would you go and tell May, please? I daresay the plane can fly itself for a while."

They had an enjoyable lunch, and then Fitz suggested to Jemma that they go back down to the lab and work on Clint's ICER arrows for a bit. Skye invited Darcy to go watch a movie and Clint and Jane seemed quite happy to settle down and talk about their mutual Asgardian friend. May scanned them all over with sharp eyes, nodded and retreated to the cockpit.

The afternoon passed quickly for Jemma, and almost before she knew it they were landing at a private airfield in upstate New York – Clint said Stark Industries owned it – and the Bus was being rolled into a huge hangar.

"Don't we need to unload?" Jemma asked as they walked down the ramp and Clint gestured them to a massive limousine.

"Being taken care of," Clint gestured to two Stark Industries trucks reversing up to the plane.

"I'm staying to make sure they don't touch anything they shouldn't," May said. "I'll join you at the Tower later." She gestured towards the motorcycles Clint had strapped onto the cargo ramp. "I've been waiting for a chance to try out one of our new toys."

"Just don't break it," Clint grinned at her, and then ushered the others gently into the car.

Jemma had become used, over the last few years, to S.H.I.E.L.D. levels of equipment; everything top of the line but functional and spare. So the sheer opulent luxury of the limousine's interior boggled her mind. She could see Skye, Fitz and Darcy staring around in awe, though Jane seemed unfazed.

"Evening, Happy," Clint said cheerfully to the uniformed chauffeur.

"Evening, Mr Barton, glad to see you again. Champagne on ice in the back, compliments of Ms. Potts. We should be at the Tower in about an hour, depending on traffic; I believe Ms. Potts has scheduled dinner for seven-thirty."

Jemma gaped as Clint slid into the back and sat down beside her. "Champagne, anyone?" He pressed a button on the walnut and leather console in front of him and a cabinet popped open to reveal several bottles and some chilled glasses.

They all accepted – when would Jemma ever get the chance to drink something this good again? – though she noticed that Clint only sipped sparingly and didn't refill his glass. The hour-long trip passed in an excited babble of voices, largely from Darcy who had never been to New York before, and Jane who was hopeful Thor might be at the Tower when they arrived. Fitz was as wide-eyed and nervous as Jemma herself, and even Skye was a bit more subdued than usual.

Jemma had hoped to see the famous_ A _that was all that remained of the word _Stark_ on top of the Tower, but when Happy drew the car to a stop in an underground garage she realised that she must have missed the sight. She commented as much to Clint as they walked to the elevator.

"It's better seen from the air. I'll take you flying sometime for a good look." He smiled down at her, and stopped in front of the elevator door, placing his hand over a touch panel.

"Good evening, Mr Barton," a disembodied voice said politely, and Jemma couldn't help but jump and share a disconcerted look with Skye. This must be Tony Stark's infamous AI.

"Hey, JARVIS, I'm here with our guests."

"Good evening, sir and ladies. Please would you each in turn place your right hand on the touch panel and state your name for identification purposes," JARVIS requested.

Typically, Darcy stepped forward first. "Darcy Lewis," she said cheerfully. "Nice to meet you, Jarv."

"The pleasure is mine, I assure you, Miss Lewis. Thank you."

Jane was quite happy to go next, greeted by JARVIS with the words "A great honour to serve the beloved of Prince Thor, Dr Foster," which made her blush.

Fitz stepped forward then, putting his hand on the pad and muttering "Leo Fitz."

"I am delighted to meet you, Dr Fitz. Perhaps when you have some free time, we might discuss your work on the Golden Retriever drones? I find them extremely interesting."

"Uh, yes, of course!" Fitz looked astounded. "Um, whenever it's convenient for you, Mr Jarvis."

"Just JARVIS, please, Dr Fitz, and I am at your disposal."

Jemma interrupted the mutual admiration fest by slapping her hand on the panel. "Jemma Simmons."

"A pleasure to meet you, Dr Simmons. You are very welcome to Avengers Tower."

Skye hung back. Clint turned to her with a slight smile. "It's up to you, Skye. JARVIS isn't going to share any data outside the Tower, but without your palmprint in the system you won't be allowed to go anywhere alone."

Skye sighed at last and hesitantly put her hand on the pad. "Agent Skye," she said finally.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Agent Skye. I have followed some of your work and been very impressed. I would appreciate some of your time if you are able to spare any, with some firewalls I have been having difficulty with."

"Sure," the corners of Skye's mouth kicked up finally as the elevator doors slid soundlessly open. "Sharing hacking secrets with an AI. What next?"

"Dinner with the Avengers," Clint said cheerfully. He'd advised them all to change before landing, and Jemma smoothed her hands over her skirt a little nervously, worried she wasn't dressy enough.

Clint had put on one of the classic Men In Black suits male S.H.I.E.L.D. agents customarily wore, and looked disturbingly gorgeous in it. It had obviously been tailored for him, fitting perfectly over his broad shoulders and thick arms and emphasizing his narrow waist, where an ordinary jacket big enough for those shoulders would have hung like a sack around the rest of him. She couldn't take her eyes off him, a fact of which he was well aware, as he caught her staring and subtly slid to stand behind her, placing his hand lightly against the small of her back.

"You look lovely. Stop worrying. They're all very nice."

"It's not so much the fact that they're the Avengers that I'm worrying about," Jemma confessed in a low voice as the elevator doors slid open after a very short and fast whoosh up what Jemma thought was probably a very large number of floors. "It's that they're your friends."

Clint's smile softened, and he pressed lightly on her back, urging her out of the elevator. "They're all more likely to tell you that I'm not good enough for you, rather than the other way around, Jemma. They'll love you. I'll be lucky if Bruce doesn't try to steal you away to be his partner in crime in the bio labs."

"You have bio labs here too? Of course, Dr Banner," Jemma realised, and then they were walking into a magnificent penthouse which was entirely empty of people apart from their newly arrived group. A moment later a tall, stunning strawberry-blonde came clicking in on insanely high designer heels.

"You're here, wonderful!" She was taller even than Clint in those heels, but he didn't seem remotely fazed about it, walking over to kiss her cheek.

"Allow me to present the inestimable Pepper Potts," he said with a bit of a grandiose flourish. "CEO, genius, Stark-tamer and Avengers-wrangler extraordinaire."

"Clint," she reproved gently, laughing. "That will do. Jane, Darcy, it's wonderful to see you both again." She clicked over and kissed them both on the cheek in a very friendly way. Jane and Darcy had earlier admitted to meeting the Avengers, and Pepper, in London just after the Convergence. They all arrived too late to help with the battle but stayed for the cleanup.

"And this is Skye," Clint introduced, "Leo Fitz – just call him Fitz – and Jemma Simmons. Melinda will be here in a bit, she stayed to supervise unloading."

"I am delighted to meet all of you," Pepper shook hands, smiling warmly. "Please, come over to the bar. Let me get you drinks. I sent Steve and Nat to wrangle Bruce and Tony from the labs," she tossed over her shoulder to Clint, "they shouldn't be long. Jane, we're hoping Thor will get here in time for dinner."

Jane nodded, smiling, but her eyes stayed fixed on the doors out to the rooftop. Looking for lightning in the dark sky, Jemma realised.

Clint expertly tended bar for Pepper, supplying them all with more of that delicious champagne. Jemma was just relaxing into a sinfully comfortable white leather couch when the elevator doors pinged softly open.

**Next up: meeting the Avengers! I'm gonna write the next chapter from Skye's POV as I want the impact of her meeting Steve for the first time, but we'll get back to Clint and Jemma soon enough.**

**Please let me know what you're thinking of the story so far, comments are like crack for authors and I can never get enough!**


	15. Surprises and Movie Reviews

**Chapter 15.**

Skye started as the elevator door opened. She'd felt jumpy and on edge since arrival; she'd slowly grown used to the Bus's comforts but this level of luxury was like nothing she'd ever experienced. Typical Tony Stark, splashing cash like water. She hadn't expected to like Pepper Potts, but Iron Man's girlfriend was lovely, warm and charming, putting them all at ease. What on earth could a woman like that see in Stark?

The man himself emerged from the elevator then, being practically shoved along by a woman Skye recognised from photographs as Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself. She wasn't as tall as Skye was expecting, only an inch or two taller than Skye herself, and Stark was surprisingly short too. _Short-guy syndrome_, Skye diagnosed instantly, watching as Stark walked up to Pepper, who had stood at his arrival, and had to reach up to kiss her. Even without the five-inch heels Potts might well be taller than him, Skye assessed.

"Dinner is in five minutes, Tony, go clean up," Pepper said warningly, stepping out of range before his greasy mechanic's overalls made contact with her smart suit. "And no, I'm not going to introduce you to everyone until you do."

Tony sighed, turned, swept a comprehensive glance over all of them and smiled. "Well, I already know Jane and Taser Trouble here. And I spoke earlier to Leo Fitz, engineering prodigy. _You_ must be Jemma Simmons, brilliant bio-scientist and a lot more beautiful than I expected, _hello-o gorgeous_."

Jemma blushed at the flirtatious remark and looked down, but Tony had already moved on. "And you must be Agent Hacker Chick."

"Skye," she said, rattled. It was the smile. Stark practically _radiated_ charisma. Even with everything she knew about the egotistical pain in the ass, she found herself still wanting his approval, wanting to see that smile again.

"I'd shake your hand but I'm filthy and I also don't like to touch people, except Pep. So let's just agree to be best buds and go hack HYDRA together later, mmkay? Back in a minute. Katniss, pour more champagne, Skye's glass is empty."

Pepper was laughing as Skye, Jemma and Fitz all gazed open-mouthed at the door through which Tony had just exited. "People always ask me why I put up with him. Until they meet him."

"And those of us who know him well _still_ ask why you put up with him," Romanoff said wryly, heading for the bar and accepting the glass of vodka Clint immediately poured for her.

Pepper gave a very private little smile. "Do you really want me to tell you, Natasha?"

"No, thanks, we don't need to hear about your and Tony's sex life," Clint said. He shuddered theatrically, and introduced Natasha. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were all in awe of her. She was a legend in the agency; even Skye had heard a hundred stories about her from Coulson and Ward. The latest crazy rumour was that she had supposedly hacked HYDRA from an Apple Store. Which had to be bullshit, but on the off chance it wasn't, Skye really wanted to pick her brains.

Natasha saw Skye coming, read her intent, smiled politely and moved immediately away to talk to Jane and Darcy. Frustrated, but not wanting to be rude, Skye took a turn around the penthouse, pausing to look out the glass walls at the incredible view. She ended up back near the elevator, studying a huge aquarium filled with rare tropical fish, when the elevator pinged open again and the embodiment of every one of her teenage fantasies stepped out.

Skye felt herself flush from head to foot as the perfect specimen of manhood stood before her. All six foot three of him, dressed in an open-necked white shirt and smart grey slacks. His blond hair was combed immaculately back, his blue eyes glowed and his face – well, it was beautiful enough to have been chiselled from solid granite by a master sculptor and displayed in the Metropolitan Museum.

"Hi," he said cheerfully. "I'm Steve Rogers." He held out a big hand to shake.

"Uh, Skye," she said eloquently, putting her hand in his.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Skye," Steve responded.

"Just Skye, please," she remembered what Clint had said about him. "It's nice to meet you too, Steve."

Captain America smiled delightedly as she called him by his first name only. _A pretty girl_, Steve thought a little clinically, with her dark hair and midnight eyes. Awfully young, early twenties at most, though her eyes were older. _Another one who's seen too much in a short life_, he thought a little sadly. He offered his arm politely and escorted her back to her friends.

Skye felt as though she was living in a fairytale, being escorted across this luxurious room on the gallantly offered arm of Captain America. Jemma grinned and winked at her, and Skye was suddenly horribly reminded of the remarks she'd made about Captain America's ass a couple of nights ago. Goodness, and she hadn't even sneaked a look yet! She got her opportunity a couple of minutes later as Steve released her arm to be introduced to Fitz and Jemma, and to greet Jane and Darcy. _Yum. Yes, perfection_.

Bruce Banner arrived a couple of minutes later, obviously freshly showered and changed, and once introduced proceeded to monopolise Jemma's conversation talking about ICERs and dendrotoxin, obviously much to Clint's annoyance, as Hawkeye grew rather tight-lipped.

They were just sitting down to a fabulous dinner, as prepared by Tony Stark's personal chef, when May arrived. And Skye got the shock of her life as Natasha leapt up from the table, practically sprinted across to the elevator, clasped May in her arms and kissed her thoroughly.

"Holy crap," Skye looked around the table after a moment. All of the Avengers obviously knew, as did Potts. Jane Foster arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. Darcy, Fitz and Jemma were obviously just as shocked as she was. Jemma's eyes were huge; she sneaked a glance at Barton and then looked back at May and Romanoff, who were still making out like the world was ending.

"Well, that I did not expect," Skye said, and opposite her, she saw Steve Rogers give a small, rueful smile.

"Caught me by surprise the first time, too," he said, and there was something in his voice that made Skye think perhaps he'd had hopes in Romanoff's direction. She'd heard that the two of them had been partnered during the Winter Soldier hunt and the HYDRA/S.H.I.E.L.D. collapse. And then she thought about the era in which he had grown up and realised he was probably very uncomfortable with public displays of affection between same-sex couples.

"I guess as long as they're both happy, that's what's important," she offered gently, and Steve gave her a small smile after a moment.

"Yes. I think you're right, Skye."

Natasha and May finally separated and came to the table hand in hand, almost glowing. Skye had never seen May smile like that, her eyes soft. Skye stood up. "I'll sit somewhere else, A.M., so you can sit with Agent Romanoff."

"Thank you, Skye, but please, you must call me Natasha," the Black Widow said.

"There's a seat here by me, Skye," Fitz called down the table.

"That's for Thor…" Jane Foster said, on the other side of the empty chair.

"This one's not," Steve said, gesturing to the empty seat beside him at the end of the table. "Please, Skye, I'd be honoured. You can tell me all about what you do."

Skye accepted the seat with grace, moving her plate and glass, and Steve stood and held her chair for her. It was the first time she could ever remember anyone doing that for her. Even Coulson wasn't that much of a gentleman. "Thank you," she murmured, a little pink-cheeked. And then, when he pressed her to talk about what she did, she hesitated. "Well – I don't mean to be rude. But how up are you with modern technology?"

"More than Stark pretends," Steve said with a wry grin. "I know how to use the Internet. And a bit more besides."

"Well, I'm a hacker. I used to work for a group called the Rising Tide, who are a group of activists who seek to expose secrets they feel should be made public. I was working against S.H.I.E.L.D. and ended up getting recruited by Agent Coulson."

"Ah, Phil," Steve shook his head exasperatedly. "I still don't get why he tried to keep us in the dark about his not being dead for so long. Natasha and Clint are two of the best spies in the world, and with Agent May on his team…"

"Yes, well, I don't think Phil thought that through," Skye said with a snort. "I'm assuming Phil knows about you two?" she said across the table to May and Natasha, who were quite blatantly holding hands.

"Of course," May said. She grinned suddenly. "He introduced us."

"Technically that was me," Clint said from further down the table.

"Ah, no," Natasha corrected, "what you did was say 'Widow, this is May. I want to set up a fight between you two'. Phil actually performed the _proper_ introduction."

Skye had to cover her mouth to keep in the giggles. "Did you ever have that fight?" she couldn't resist asking. "And if so, who won?"

"As if we'd tell," Natasha gave her a wink.

They were interrupted by booming thunder and flashing lightning outside the window, heralding the arrival of the Thunder God, and for the second time dinner was interrupted by a makeout session as Jane Foster flung herself into Thor's arms and he very happily caught her.

Well, Thor certainly did have magnificent arms. May was right about that. Wait a minute, _May_… Skye looked across the table into her team leader's eyes and realised May was silently laughing at her. Goddamn it, May had known all along about this possible scenario! She'd got Jemma and Skye drunk and forced them to talk about which Avenger they were attracted to, starting off herself by claiming Thor who was of course taken…

Skye looked down the table and saw Jemma's face. Yes, Jemma had clearly come to the same conclusion and was giving May a dirty look, somewhat mitigated by Clint's arm thrown casually around her shoulders. Skye glanced at Fitz to see how he was taking this development, only to discover him gazing at Darcy, who was regaling that end of the table with the story of how she once tazed Thor. _Huh. Maybe Fitz was attracted to a woman who might actually be interested for once. _Skye had seen Darcy listening to Fitz with an admiring look on her face as he talked science on the Bus.

Skye returned her stare to May. She really never would have picked the other woman for a matchmaker. Especially not for Skye, not when she knew about Skye's disastrous romantic history! First Miles, then Ward – men who couldn't be trusted…

May cut her eyes at Steve, and then looked meaningfully back at Skye, one eyebrow raised. Natasha was staring at her too, and Skye suddenly got it. Steve was _Captain America_. Perhaps the one man in the world who _could_ be trusted never to let her down. And she – why would they have chosen _her_ for _him_?

She thought about that, sipping at her champagne. Phil had always said that she was good at getting through to people. Mike Peterson perhaps the best example, although Ward possibly fell in that category too. She glanced sideways at Steve, who was eating steadily, obviously needing to fuel that insane metabolism. He still looked sad. A man who'd lost everything he once knew and a girl who'd never had anything to lose; perhaps they _were_ perfect for each other.

Skye waited for Steve to look up, which he did fairly quickly, obviously sensing her eyes on him. And when he did, she gave him a gentle smile. Not flirty. He probably wouldn't have any idea how to deal with modern-day flirting, it would send him straight back into his shell. She would need to befriend him first.

"I'm sure you've been catching up on modern culture," she said, "so tell me, what's your favourite movie so far?"

Steve smiled, obviously a little surprised. "That's tricky. You're right, I've been watching one or two every night. Sometimes marathons on long flights on the way to missions, but I hadn't really thought about it." He sat back, picking up his water glass and taking a long drink, gathering his thoughts.

"Well, do you like comedy? Adventure? Drama? Action?"

"I've liked something in every genre. JARVIS gave me a list to catch me up decade by decade, so I wasn't too overwhelmed with the advances in technology. I'm still in the early 2000's," Steve apologised.

"Hey, nothing wrong with catching up slowly. You've got some wonderful movies yet to watch."

He was smiling now at her genuine interest, and Skye wondered how long it had been since he just _talked_ to a girl like this, about something unimportant and non-life-changing.

"I've really enjoyed some of the comedy, especially the comedy action," Steve said after a bit of thought. "Things like _Indiana Jones_ and _The Mummy_ and _Ghostbusters_."

"Classics," Skye agreed, grinning at a sudden stray image of Captain America striding into battle shouting '_Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!_'.

"But I think the movie that's stayed with me most is probably _Saving Private Ryan_."

"Oh," Skye sobered at once, and couldn't help but put her hand over his where it grasped the edge of the table. "I guess that one struck a little close to home, huh?"

Steve nodded silently, but he didn't shake her hand off. Skye pressed lightly on his fingers for a moment – noticing how ridiculously huge his hand was compared to hers – and then lifted her hand away.

"A lot of soldiers did get to go home and live full lives because of what you did, Steve. I work with the grandson of Gabe Jones, who'd never have been born if you hadn't gone in and pulled the Howling Commandos out of that HYDRA facility."

"Really?" Steve turned back to her, a smile touching his mouth again. "Gabe's grandson? Does he look like Gabe?"

"Quite a bit," Skye said encouragingly. "He doesn't tell many people who his grandfather was, he's not the type to brag. I'd known him for weeks before I found out. I'm sure you'll meet him at some point. I'll be sure to introduce you."

"I'd like that," Steve said enthusiastically, and then picked up his fork and started to eat again.

Skye smiled to herself. Well, that was a good beginning. She caught Natasha and May's approving glances across the table and lifted her glass to them in a silent toast.

"You'll have to watch _The Monuments Men_," she said in a stroke of sudden inspiration. "You probably knew some of them and I'd love to know the real story!"

**So I'll revisit Skye and Steve later – probably every 3-4 chapters there will be one specifically featuring them. Skye's obviously well aware that she can't rush Steve, much though she'd love to jump him and grab on dat ass. The major thing I've noticed about Skye's character in AoS is how empathetic she is; she's very good at getting through to people. (This is obviously how Ward fell for her despite his conditioning). **

**Anyway, I'm back to Clint and Jemma for now. We'll see plenty more of Skye and Steve soon.**

**Was May and Nat a surprise for you? LOL it kind of was for me until I realised I'd been thinking that way all along – note May's preference for expensive vodka way back in Chapter One!**


	16. One's Enough For Me

**Chapter 16.**

Jemma felt rather as though she was living in a dream. Sitting in Tony Stark's penthouse, having dinner with the Avengers, Hawkeye's arm around her shoulders as Bruce Banner asked interested questions about her work. Thor was sitting across the table talking expansively, waving his arms around and occasionally stopping to stroke Jane's hair. _THOR_. She shook her head in disbelief.

"You all right?" Clint murmured softly into her ear. She'd flinched away from him the first time he put his arm around her, glancing nervously across at Fitz, but Fitz only arched an eyebrow and gave her an amused grin before turning back to stare at Darcy again. She'd thought that would be the end of her embarrassment until Tony Stark made a comment about the Hawk preening his feathers to attract a mate.

Clint flicked a pea off his plate which bounced with perfect accuracy directly between Tony's eyes. Tony looked for a moment as if he was about to retaliate until Pepper grabbed his hand.

"Do you really want to start a food fight right now? You deserved that. Leave Clint alone." She smiled at Jemma who smiled back gratefully, and that was the end of Stark's sniping. For now, anyway, though she could tell by the way those dark eyes glittered that Stark was just storing ammunition for use later.

"I'm fine," she murmured back to Clint's query now. "Just got a bit of a feeling of unreality, you know?"

"I get that too a lot of the time," Clint said with a small smile.

"You, but you're _Hawkeye_, you're one of them!" she said in surprise. Bruce was attending to his meal, and to Tony who was talking again on his other side, so for the moment they had the illusion of privacy in their conversation.

"Seriously? I told you about my childhood. Under-privileged doesn't begin to cover it, Jemma. And here I sit, in a billionaire's penthouse, working with my childhood hero," he gestured towards Steve, "a god from Norse myth," Thor, of course, "Iron Man…"

"I take your point," Jemma said hurriedly before he said anything about Bruce and the Hulk. "Familiarity, though…"

"Does not breed contempt. Except for Tony." Clint grinned, and she laughed. "Seriously, they're all just people, and very nice for the most part. Thor's a little odd but he has a completely different frame of reference from the rest of us, and he _is_ trying."

"_Very_ trying," Bruce said a bit sardonically.

"Just because Hulk has some kind of grudge match going on with him," Clint snarked. "Every time Hulk and Thor get near each other Hulk tries to put Thor through a wall. I think the big green guy feels a bit threatened."

Jemma couldn't help but giggle at that, and both Bruce and Clint smiled at her.

After dinner, Bruce invited Jemma down to see his bioscience labs, and after a hesitant glance at Clint, who murmured "Go ahead. I'll catch up with you later," she accepted delightedly. Skye, Fitz and Darcy all trotted off after Tony like a row of eager little ducklings, so Jemma didn't worry about Fitz. He'd be lost in Tony's labs forever. They might have to send a search party in.

Jemma hadn't really thought that might apply to herself, but Bruce's labs were like Wonderland. Everything in there was state-of-the-art, some of the tech so new she hadn't even heard a whisper of it. Bruce admitted he and Tony had built a fair bit of it themselves, some of it after Thor had described Asgardian tech to them. Bruce agreed with Jemma's theory that sufficiently advanced technology was indistinguishable from magic, and they were animatedly discussing the ways in which Thor's tidbits of knowledge from Asgard were helping to bridge that gap when Clint found them.

"I told you he'd try to steal you," Clint's voice said in an amused tone, making Jemma jump and spin round. There he was, leaning in a doorframe, ankles casually crossed, arms folded over his chest. He'd changed back into a sleeveless T-shirt and cargo pants, which appeared to be his default method of dress.

"Oh," Jemma glanced guiltily at her watch. "I forgot the time."

"Sweetheart, it's not like we had an appointment." Clint pushed off the doorframe and came forward, bending his head to kiss her cheek, slipping his arm around her waist. "I'm glad you and Bruce are getting along. I'd like you to think of this as your home labs, now S.H.I.E.L.D.'s are gone. Bruce will be happy to have someone as smart as you to bounce ideas off. But I already warned him even Hulk wouldn't be able to save him if he tried to steal my girl."

Surprised, Jemma cast a sheepish glance at Bruce, but he was grinning. "He really did. Don't worry, Clint. I'm fairly sure Jemma is immune to my myriad personal attractions."

Jemma blushed. "Don't sell yourself short, Dr. Banner. But I think one Avenger is more than enough for me." She leaned into Clint, enjoying the heat of his body. She hadn't noticed until he touched her, but it was cool in the labs and she felt chilled.

"Sorry, Bruce," Clint said, "I'm stealing her back now."

Banner flapped a hand. "Go. Otherwise you'll only make me uncomfortable with PDA's, I can tell. Go be disgraceful in private."

Jemma blushed, but Bruce had already turned away, and Clint's arm tightened around her waist, drawing her towards the elevator.

"Clint," she reproved as the doors slid shut behind them, "that was a bit rude… grmph." She was cut off as he shoved her hard up against the wall of the elevator and brought his mouth down on hers in an absolutely filthy kiss, hot tongue plunging into her mouth even as he hoisted her off her feet and ground the extremely impressive bulge in his pants against her core.

"Camera?" Jemma retained enough presence of mind to ask when he released her lips for a moment to nip at the soft skin of her throat. Mind you, they'd already given anyone watching quite a show. She'd been unable to stop herself from wrapping her legs around his waist and grinding back against him. Her skirt had ridden up almost to her hips and he was creating an amazing friction against her clit through her thin knickers.

"Privacy protocol," Clint panted out. "Already told – JARVIS – disable it – oh God, Jemma, I need to have you…"

"Yes," she moaned frantically, and as the elevator doors slid open he moved, lifting her against him. He carried her out of the elevator, still wrapped around him like a clinging vine.

"My floor," he muttered in response to her slightly frantic look around, "elevator won't stop here for anyone else…" and he was lowering her to a couch, huge and squashy, upholstered in a rich tan leather.

Jemma was so frantic she actually popped the button off Clint's cargo pants, which made him laugh darkly, but he was just as wild to get her naked. How they managed without further damaging each other's clothes Jemma would never afterwards be sure; she only knew the desperate desire to feel his hot skin against as much of her body as possible, to have that thick, solid cock inside her as his mouth ravaged her throat. She'd managed to wrap her legs around his waist and drag him halfway in when he stopped, frantically trying to pull back.

"Jemma, stop, I need a condom!" Clint berated himself mentally. She'd damn near completely made him lose his head.

"No," Jemma moaned.

"_Yes_, I won't risk getting you pregnant…"

"You can't, I've got an implant. And I know you're clean. Me too. So shut up and fuck me, Clint."

He hesitated only a moment longer: she was right about them both being clean. Monthly blood tests at S.H.I.E.L.D. ensured that, not that he ever took risks. He'd have to trust her on the implant, but he was sure she wouldn't lie to him. Clint looked down into Jemma's soft brown eyes, gazing up at him, hazy with need, and gave himself over to her. "_Jemma_," he said thickly, and pushed deeper. Without the artificial latex barrier between them she felt even more amazing, slick and tight around his body's most sensitive part. Every nerve ending tingled as she tilted her hips up to take him fully inside her.

For a long moment Clint held utterly still, letting Jemma adapt to having him there, so deep he could feel his tip brushing the end of her passage. She was breathing in short gasps, her nails scoring at his shoulders, head tossing restlessly from side to side. Her heels dug into his ass as she shifted her legs, begging him wordlessly to _move_, to give her the friction she needed to come. And then she found her tongue.

"Clint! Fucking _move_, you bastard! Do it, bang me, do it _hard_!"

He almost laughed; it seemed his filthy mouth was infectious. Hearing the words spill from Jemma's lips in her crisp English accent was incongruous, but incredibly sexy. "Yeah?" he moved, but tauntingly, slowly, drawing almost all the way out and then slowly back in again, strong hands on her hips preventing her from using her leg muscles to slam them together. "You don't like it slow, like this?"

"Yes," Jemma moaned, totally incoherent now.

"You do like it, or you don't?" he teased, moving one hand to slide in between them, playing with her clit, scissoring his fingers over it lightly.

"Yes!"

Clint felt Jemma begin to clench, and pressed firmly down on her clit with one finger. "Not just yet, sweetheart. Not till I say." The tiny spasm subsided, but she began to pant.

"Oh God. Clint, _please_. Do you want me to beg? Please please please please…"

"Sshh," he kissed her lips gently. "Wait. It'll be better if you wait."

"But I want it _now_!" she pouted adorably, and he nipped her lower lip.

"You wanted it hard and fast a moment ago. Can't make your mind up, can you, sweetheart?" he was moving again, slow and gentle, keeping up the pressure on her clit. In the back of his mind he thought vaguely that he was going to need to buy himself a cock ring, because it was going to be bloody difficult to prolong Jemma's pleasure when all he wanted to do was blow his load inside her wet heat. Well, he had all night. He licked his lips hungrily at the thought.

Jemma let out a soft wail, head dropping back, her back arching helplessly because he had her hips pinned, but just the sight of her writhing under him like that sent Clint past the point of no return. "Fuck, look at you, you gorgeous woman," he groaned out, and then he shifted, angling his hips to make sure he was running over her G-spot as he started thrusting.

Jemma's eyes flew wide as Clint started doing something that felt even _better_. She already felt insanely good: she didn't think she'd ever hovered on the edge of orgasm like that before. Her skin was tingling all over, her nipples aching, and she could feel how wet she was by the easy way Clint was sliding in and out, all the while rubbing over that ridiculously sensitive spot with his cock and keeping up that pressure on her clit that was just on the edge of pain, just kept her from the release she craved so badly.

"Please," she sobbed incoherently, her head thrashing from side to side. "Clint! Please! _PLEASE!_"

"All right, sweetheart," he said through gritted teeth, and then he took his finger off her clit and Jemma exploded. An orgasm unlike anything she'd ever felt rocketed through her, sudden wetness flooded between her thighs, and Clint let out a shocked, triumphant cry. A gush of heat inside her only enhanced the sensations she was experiencing.

"What just happened?" Jemma mumbled a moment later, and Clint, lying heavily on her even though he was using his arms to partly brace his weight, chuckled slightly.

"You squirted, sweetheart."

"No, I didn't. That's an unproven theory of female orgasm…"

"Yeah?" he kissed her, smiling against her lips. "Jemma. You squirted. It happens. Not all women do it. Those who do, can't do it all the time. Just because something's not been scientifically analysed doesn't mean it doesn't happen."

"Huh," she said, slowly peeling her eyelids open and looking up at him. "Is it – okay?"

Clint grinned, leaning down to kiss her again. "Oh, a lot better than okay. I fucking love that I can do that to you. And now I know I can, believe me I'm gonna be pushing that button all the time."

Jemma felt wet and sticky, and not terribly comfortable, and Clint seemed to sense it, because a moment later he was easing off her and then swinging her easily up into his arms, cradling her to his chest. She let out a yelp of surprise, clutching at his shoulders, and he smiled at her.

"Come on, my beautiful dirty girl. Let's get cleaned up and then I'm going to take you to bed and get you dirty again."

**Pretty much pure smut in this chapter! Hope you enjoyed! **


	17. Interesting Decorations

**Chapter 17.**

Jemma laughed, snuggling comfortably into Clint's chest as he carried her into a very luxurious bathroom. _Wow_. Living in Avengers Tower appeared to be a lot like living in a six-star hotel. The bathroom was amazing, a huge spa tub, massive slate-lined shower with at least six showerheads – she gasped as Clint pushed a button on the wall and warm water immediately began spouting over both of them.

"Oh wow, this is amazing! Wait, I don't want to get my hair wet…"

He set her on her feet and adjusted a couple of the showerheads while she twisted her hair into a loose knot on top of her head. And then he pumped a handful of soap from a stainless steel pump set into the wall and started lathering up, stroking his hands down across his washboard abs and soaping his cock, watching her from under half-lowered eyelids, his eyelashes spiky with water.

Jemma swallowed. _That_ was officially the sexiest thing she'd _ever_ seen. "Nngh," was the only sound she managed to get out when he asked her softly if she was all right.

"No? Was that a no, Jemma? You're not all right? Need me to do something for you? Need me to wash you clean?" he moved forward, his eyes hot, and she just stood there and trembled, her senses completely overwhelmed. Perhaps Clint sensed it, because he put his hands on her hips and turned her around, taking her hands and pressing them against the shower wall, and without being able to _see_ him like that, like the fulfilment of every one of her night-time fantasies, her head cleared a little.

Right up until the moment his hands slid slickly around her and up over her breasts, his knee nudging her legs a little further apart, muscled thigh sliding in to chafe at her groin.

Jemma yelped and started to pant, her knees bending as she tried to press harder against his leg. "Yes. Oh dear Lord, _Clint_!"

"Passionate little thing," he whispered in her ear, one hand sliding down her stomach. "Ready to come for me again, sweetheart? Let me hear you scream."

Unable to support herself, Jemma leaned back against his broad chest, lolling her head back against his shoulder as her hands fell to her sides, bracing on his strong forearms. Clint tilted his head to kiss her, clever fingers stroking as his thigh continued to chafe. Jemma whimpered.

"Please don't make me wait this time, please…"

"You beg so beautifully," that low, husky voice said in her ear, "how can I refuse?" and three strong fingers were suddenly curling up inside her, and then the tip of his middle finger _flicked_ as his thumb ground in a swift circling motion.

Jemma's mouth opened in a long wail as she arched back against him, and Clint smiled, kissing her brow. "That's it, beautiful," he murmured, still stroking, gentler now as he eased her back down. "Good girl. So responsive, it's like you were made for me."

Jemma just moaned incoherently, leaning against him, letting him take her weight. Clint took more soap in his hand and began to wash her properly, enjoying the fact that it was _his_ soap he was stroking into her soft, pale skin, _his_ scent he was marking her with. At last he had them both washed clean and hit the button to stop the water flow, reaching for the fresh towels hanging on the rail.

"Here." He wrapped one of the fluffy white towels around Jemma, tucking it in gently. "You okay, sweetheart?"

"Mm," she nodded, giving him a slightly dazed smile, and then she seemed to think about it. "I'm thirsty."

"All right, I'll get you a glass of water." He swathed the other towel around his waist and headed for his small kitchen, leaving the bathroom to her.

Of course, by the time he'd fetched water and returned, she'd recovered her faculties and was wandering around his apartment, her eyes alight. "Clint, this is so cool!"

He sighed, looking around at his artwork. "It's Stark's idea of funny."

The living-room walls had a number of pieces of art on them. If you could call it art. It was actually a large selection of framed movie and TV posters, all autographed, all of famous screen archers. Orlando Bloom as Legolas and Evangeline Lilly as Tauriel, both from _The Hobbit_. Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen. A _Brave_ poster with the actress who voiced Merida's autograph. Will Lyman as William Tell. A whole selection of Robin Hoods from Kevin Costner, Cary Elwes, Jonas Armstrong and Russell Crowe to Errol Flynn. "Whoah, that one must be worth a fortune," she paused at the one with Errol Flynn's autograph.

"Probably," Clint sighed. "Like I said. Stark's idea of funny."

"Hey," Jemma noticed something else. "Some of these are personalised!"

Orlando Bloom had scrawled 'To Hawkeye, the best archer of us all' above his signature. Jennifer Lawrence had written 'For Hawkeye, my inspiration'.

"Have you _met_ these people?" Jemma turned in amazement. "I mean, not Errol Flynn, obviously, but…"

Clint ducked his head. "I might have given Orlando and Evangeline a few tips for their latest movies," he muttered, the tips of his ears turning red. "And Jennifer. And Steve Amell." He gestured at the _Arrow_ poster, where Jemma found 'Hawkeye, best teacher EVER' scrawled in bright green ink. He muttered something else under his breath.

"Say what?" Jemma didn't catch it.

"And the guy who's supposed to be playing me in the new TV series based on the Avengers," Clint said really quickly.

"I bet he's totally celebrity fanboying over you," Jemma said teasingly. "Who is it?"

"Some guy called Renner. He looks quite a lot like me, actually."

"Oh, the actor who was in the last Bourne and Mission Impossible? Yeah," Jemma smiled. "He's dreamy. I can totally see him as you."

"If you start drooling over my screen alter ego when the TV series starts showing I'm totally going to have an identity crisis."

For some reason Jemma found that hysterically funny. She dissolved into a fit of giggles, wandering around the room and looking at the various posters, sipping at the glass of ice water he'd handed her. She paused in front of the Kevin Costner one for _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_. "I think he was my favourite Robin Hood."

"It was the first Robin Hood movie I saw, after the Disney one when I was a kid," Clint admitted. "I was twelve, I think. Still with the circus. Barney and I sneaked into a drive-in in the back of someone's pickup. I was already an archer; my act got way more popular after that movie."

"Did you have a Robin Hood costume, then?" Jemma asked teasingly, and knew by the way the tips of his ears coloured again that he had. "Did you have a Maid Marian to rescue?"

He shook his head, and then grinned suddenly. "I didn't know any beautiful English maidens back then."

She skittered swiftly away as he moved towards her, darting through the doorway close by, only to find herself in the bedroom. It was dominated by the huge timber-framed bed, but her attention was caught by the remarkable display of weaponry on the wall. Bows, arrows, knives and swords, and every single one looked sharp and functional. "Whoah!" She stopped short, staring.

"My security blanket, I'm afraid," Clint came up behind her. "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you?" when she cast an astonished look at him.

Jemma turned her gaze back to the weaponry. Boudicca was there, hanging right by the bed, of course; she was never far from Clint's hand and had ridden to the Tower in the limo with them. There were several filled quivers of arrows hanging below the magnificent black bow. But there were other bows as well; a futuristic-looking crossbow, a handbow no more than a foot long, an antique-looking wooden longbow, a magnificent English oak recurve that looked rather a lot like Legolas' elven bow from the _Lord Of The Rings_ movies. Perhaps, with what he'd said earlier about blades and the man called Swordsman, she shouldn't have been surprised that there were as many swords as bows, and a whole collection of knives and throwing stars. She shook her head in wonderment. "It's like a medieval armoury."

"Excuse _me_," Clint said, sounding offended. He walked over to Boudicca and stroked a loving hand down one sleek black limb. "She didn't mean it, darling. You're not medieval," he told the bow.

"I knew it, you like Boudicca better than me," Jemma teased.

Clint turned, arching an eyebrow. "Well, perhaps you could convince me to prefer you?"

"How could I do that?" she asked a bit shyly as he moved closer, one big hand curling gently around her wrist. He slipped the forgotten, empty water glass from her hand and set it down on the bedside table.

"Come to bed," Clint murmured softly, running his fingers through Jemma's hair, freeing the loose knot she'd twisted it up into until the strands fell silkily across her shoulders. She looked up at him from those beautiful tawny brown eyes, smiling shyly, biting a little nervously on her lower lip. "What, you aren't still shy with me, are you? Surely you know by now I'd never hurt you?"

Jemma dropped her eyes, blushing. "I know you wouldn't hurt me," she said almost inaudibly.

Clint felt suddenly a little concerned. Jemma was acting very oddly. Gently he circled her waist with his hands, pulling her close to him, relieved when she came willingly, slipping her hands behind his back and leaning her cheek against his chest. "Tell me, sweetheart, whatever it is, I want to know. Something's bothering you." He nuzzled gently at her hair, drinking in the scent of it.

Without him looking at her from those intense blue-green eyes, it was a little bit easier to say. "I'm really boring."

Clint just about choked. "Uh, _what_?"

"In bed," Jemma clarified. "I don't have all that much experience and you _obviously_ do because you're _totally_ fantastic at it and I – I'm boring."

"Have I even for _one second_ looked _remotely_ bored?" He sounded totally shocked. Jemma pressed her face into his chest so she didn't have to look at him.

"No, but I'm sure you will soon. My last boyfriend said – he said…"

"Okay, I don't give a shit what that dumbass said, whoever he was. You are _not_ boring. You're a gorgeous, passionate woman and I am going to _very_ much enjoy completing your sexual education." He pretty much purred the last few words, and Jemma couldn't help a little shiver of anticipation, although she could feel her blush spreading.

"I know all the scientific theory," she muttered, "and I've read…"

"Yes, I know all about your night-time reading." Clint couldn't help a slight chuckle.

"Oh, stop it!" She thumped his chest with a tiny fist. "I read the Fifty Shades trilogy too," she said defiantly, tipping her head back to look up at him, realising that had been a tactical error as his pupils blew wide with lust and his lips parted hungrily.

"Did you now." And then it seemed as though he'd just taken a direct hit to the chest, because he suddenly let her go and staggered back. "Wait. That's not – you don't think I want…?"

"I don't _know_." Jemma was sure that she was red all the way down to her ankles by now. "I'm not all that experienced. Like I said." She studied her toes intently, wiggling them into the thick, luxurious carpet underfoot, unable to look at him. "I don't know what it takes to keep a man like you interested."

"Fuck." He turned away from her for a moment, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the short strands frustratedly before turning back. "Okay. Let's get this straight right now. I'm not kinky. I don't want to hurt you or beat you and I honestly think seeing you cry would kill me. I only suggested the gag last night because _you_ were worried about making a noise. Frankly I'd far rather hear you screaming my name."

Jemma had the awful feeling that she was going to expire from embarrassment. No – wait, this faint feeling was because she was forgetting to breathe. She sucked in a deep breath as Clint's hands landed on her shoulders.

"Jemma. Look at me."

Shy, red-faced, she did, and he shook his head at her. "Jesus, I never even thought to give you any ground rules, did I? Fuck, I'm an idiot. I knew I'd rushed you."

"You didn't rush me," of that she was quite sure. "I – I've wanted everything we've done just as much as you have."

"I'm not sure that's possible," his grin reappeared, and he bent to kiss her lightly, his teeth nipping at her lower lip until she sighed and arched against him, her arms curving around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. "Jemma, I'm fucking crazy about you," he murmured into her neck, his calloused hands stroking gently over her bare shoulders and upper back. "I'm not going to deny that the idea of you submitting yourself to me, trusting me to explore what pleases you best, turns me on like crazy. But I'd never hurt you, I swear it, and I don't need you to try to be something you're not to please me."

She nodded, and he returned to her mouth to kiss her again. "And," he said, pulling back to look in her eyes, "if at any time I do something that you are not one hundred percent on board with, you tell me to stop. Okay? Will you promise me that?"

"A safe word?" Jemma asked shyly.

"If that's what you need. But as far as I'm concerned, just _stop_ will do. Or _slow down_. Gentler. Deeper. Harder. Faster." He grinned wickedly. "I'm hoping to hear a lot of the last three. Especially if you moan them as beautifully as I know you can."

"I am never going to able to stop blushing around you, am I?" she asked plaintively.

"I hope to cure you of it eventually. But not too soon. You're really pretty when you blush." The familiar heat was back in his eyes, and then his fingers were plucking at her towel. "I'm gonna be good and ask permission now, Jemma. Please may I lay you down on my bed and fuck you until you're screaming my name?"

"Oh yes _please_."

"I do like it when you beg."

**Next chapter, we're back to Steve and Skye again for a little while!**


	18. Late Nights In The Gym

**Chapter 18.**

Steve rolled over, punched the pillow with frustration and then yanked it over his head. It didn't help.

The rooms in the Tower weren't quite as soundproof as everyone liked to think. Certain sounds travelled. Especially if you were a super-soldier with super-hearing. Clint's apartment was right above his, and he could hear soft cries and moans echoing through the Tower's ductwork. Though that wasn't nearly as bad as Thor's bull-throated roars from the apartment below, interspersed with noisy squeals of ecstasy from Dr Foster.

Oh, dear God, he couldn't take any more of this. Bad enough when Bucky had occasionally brought dames back to the little apartment they'd once shared. Back then, he'd been able to hide in his room, jack off quietly, and fall quickly into exhausted, weakened slumber.

Now, with super-soldier recovery time, he was ready to go again within five minutes and sleep was still nowhere near him. The only small – _very_ small – mercy was that Natasha's apartment was several floors away and he couldn't hear what the beautiful Russian and her pretty Asian girlfriend were doing to each other. Giving up on sleep, he scrambled out of bed and grabbed a pair of sweats, his face burning with shame. He'd hit the gym for a few hours, and pray the lovers had decided to get some sleep by the time he came back.

Steve walked into the gym. It was a private floor specially set up for the Avengers; all their preferred training equipment was in here, including some specially reinforced punching bags Tony had created especially for Steve. He'd only broken one so far, the first time he came back in here after realising Bucky was the Winter Soldier. He started towards one now, only to freeze when he realised someone was here ahead of him.

The small, dark-haired girl from Coulson and May's team. What was her name? Something modern – Skye, that was it. She had her back to him, earbuds plugged into a phone clipped onto the waist of her shorts, fists wrapped, jabbing and striking at a bag, launching an occasional kick. She had some moves, for a girl so tiny. She couldn't stand any more than five foot five and he doubted she weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, but the heavy bag was rocking and swaying under her strikes. Finally she struck a combination, left jab, right hook, knee strike with a devastating scream of anger that had even Steve wincing with sympathy. That knee would have been a groin strike to incapacitate a guy about his size.

At that moment Skye seemed to become aware of him and whirled, fists up ready to defend herself, her exotically slanted dark eyes snapping with rage. She was flushed and sweating – and she was really pretty when she was angry, even in grubby athletics shorts and a sweat-stained T-shirt.

Steve blinked away the sudden awareness and spread his hands unthreateningly, only then becoming aware that he'd neglected to drag on a shirt. Well, he hadn't expected to see anybody else here at this time of night. Not with Clint and Natasha both _busy_.

Skye stared at him for a moment blankly, and then she dropped her defensive stance and pulled the earbuds from her ears.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," Steve said placatingly.

"It's all right." Skye seemed to fold into herself, shrinking down as her fists dropped to her sides. "Should have been paying more attention. W – May would kick my ass for letting someone sneak up on me unawares."

Steve raised his brows. He hadn't come within twenty feet of her. "The only person who could sneak up on you in here is an Avenger, and you have nothing to fear from anyone on this team."

"Yeah. That's what I thought about my old team." She sighed and plopped down rather ungracefully to sit on the mat, tugging at the bindings on her hands ineffectually, and he realised she looked exhausted. "Damn. Would you mind?" She held out one wrapped fist towards him.

Steve cautiously approached, sitting down cross-legged opposite her, taking her small fist in his hands and beginning to unwind the bindings. "So who is it that betrayed you?" he asked in a casual tone. "Is that who you imagine you're beating on?"

Her dark eyes flew to his, and she gave him a quirky little smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Grant Ward. My former SO. Turned out to be HYDRA."

"I'm sorry," Steve offered. "Brock Rumlow, the former STRIKE team leader, turned out to be HYDRA too. I'd liked him. We worked well together. Until he tried to kill me."

"I kind of wish Ward _had_ tried to kill me," Skye sighed as he finished unwrapping one fist and reached for the other. "It would be easier to just hate him. But noooo, he kept claiming he was in love with me and wanted to _save_ me."

"Oh," Steve stilled. "Wow. That must have been – horrible. Did you..?"

"I think maybe I was a little bit in love with the person I _thought_ he was," Skye admitted. _Wow, who knew Captain America was so easy to talk to?_ He finished unwrapping her hand and just sat facing her, blue eyes intent on her face. "But he was a lying cheating HYDRA liar who'd done nothing but lie since the day I met him."

The corners of Steve's mouth twitched up slightly. "That's a lot of lying. HYDRA agents seem to be good at that. They always have been."

"You'd know." Skye smiled properly at him, and he smiled back. "So why are _you_ in the gym in the middle of the night?" she did her best to change the subject. "I woke up from a horrible nightmare of the Liar and JARVIS directed me here when I said I wanted to blow off some steam, what's your excuse? I know super-soldiers do need sleep, I worked with Deathlok briefly."

Steve's eyebrows raised; he'd read Coulson's reports on Mike Peterson. Now that she mentioned it, he did recall reading that it had been a S.H.I.E.L.D. hacker taking control of Deathlok's cybernetic eye that had been the deciding factor in the Battle of Cybertek. "Yes, I do need sleep. About four hours a night is usually sufficient."

"As it's two a.m., you should be passed out by now," Skye pointed out, and stared in astonishment when Captain America started _blushing_. "What?"

"I, um…" _Oh, God_. The modern world really wasn't getting any easier, even two years into living in it. "My hearing is enhanced. While the apartments are theoretically soundproofed – they're not quite. Not against my ears."

Skye looked totally blank. Steve let out a groan and passed a hand over his face. "Please don't make me spell it out. My apartment is on the floor in between Hawkeye's and Thor's."

"Oh, my God," Skye started laughing, apparently totally unfazed. "Your team-mates are having loud sex and keeping you awake!"

His flush was spreading down his chest. Skye took one look at him and actually collapsed back on the floor, laughing heartily. Eventually she pushed herself back up, still giggling. "Oh, come on, you should just get your own back!"

Steve really hadn't thought he could blush any redder. Fortunately, he thought of a quick response and said it. "No point. _They_ couldn't _hear_."

Skye giggled, eyeing his red face. "I'll help you come up with a suitable revenge. I'm the queen of pranks on the Bus."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, I think Hawkeye and Thor are depriving themselves of sleep quite nicely without my help, Skye."

_Oh. Wow._

She _really_ liked the way he said her name. Licking her lips, trying not to let him see the sudden arousal that had flared across her right then – as though she hadn't been aroused since the moment she saw him standing there with that ridiculously beautiful chest all bare and golden and _lickable_ – Skye tried to gather her thoughts.

"You can still prank them. And then when they ask why, you can tell them it's revenge for keeping you awake fucking."

His eyes shot wide, and Skye put a hand to her mouth and started giggling. "Oh, dear, I just said _fucking_ to Captain America."

"Twice," Steve said, unable to suppress a grin. _Damn_, he _liked_ this dame. She was a hoot, and seemed completely unintimidated by him. "I _have_ heard the word before, you know. I just – most times it's soldiers using it as a swear word. Not pretty girls talking about the, er, physical act."

Skye just couldn't stop the giggles. Eventually she managed to suppress them with a hiccup, wiped at her teary eyes and said "Thank you."

"Er – what for?"

"Making me laugh." She gathered her discarded hand bindings and stood. "It's been too long since I laughed. Thank you."

Steve stood fluidly, and sketched her an oddly formal little bow. "Me too," he said with a sad twist to his smile. "I hope you sleep well, Skye."

"You too. When your apartment's finally quiet enough." She cast him a cheeky grin and departed, leaving Steve shaking his head and smiling to himself.

_Quite a girl_. He wrapped his fists methodically, struck at the punching bag. But his heart just didn't seem to be in it tonight. He frowned. _HYDRA. Think about HYDRA._

_Grant Ward_. The man who'd hurt Skye. Who'd lied to her. Made her care about him, all the while using her for his own ends. Steve's fist struck out hard and the bag jerked. _Ward. Grant Ward. Remember that name_. Another strike. In his mind's eye, he saw the rage in Skye's eyes when he'd interrupted her, the sorrow when she confessed she'd loved the man she thought Ward had been. He'd tear Ward apart if he ever caught up with him. Steve's fists beat harder, faster, a vicious tattoo on the bag. _Grant Ward. You're a dead man. You just don't know it yet._

**Skye's hacking her way into Steve's heart a little bit at a time, isn't she? And BTW Ward is pure villain in this (who the hell knows how he's actually going to turn out in AoS and I DON'T CARE. The minute he shot Victoria Hand I was done with him).**


	19. Science Porn?

**Chapter 19.**

Jemma woke up, stretched, and immediately regretted it. It seemed as though nearly every muscle in her body was aching. Clint had been gentle – until she'd asked him not to be. And then he'd been, well, _thorough_. She lay still, trying to relax her sore hips and thighs, unable to stop thinking about the night before.

"I do like it when you beg," Clint had almost whispered the words before slipping her towel free, dropping his own and almost dragging her down onto the bed. Not that she'd been unwilling. Quite the contrary. Jemma was almost as eager to take her time exploring his body as he was hers, and finally they had the space, and the time, to do their desires justice.

Jemma had never thought of herself as particularly submissive. Quiet, yes. Docile? Definitely not. And she did like her own way. Certainly she had no intention of letting Clint boss her around – not that he seemed inclined to. But every time he touched her, she turned into a puddle of lust, frantic for him to touch her again, and it seemed all she could think about was what would make him happy.

Fortunately, it seemed that what made Clint happy was giving her spectacular, screaming orgasms. His hot mouth investigated what seemed like every inch of her skin, searching out erogenous zones Jemma had previously not even suspected she possessed. Even with all her understanding of the human body, it still made no sense that her nipples sprang to attention when Clint licked the back of her knee.

"Oh," Jemma gasped when he tested to see if he could elicit the same reaction by licking the other leg in the same spot. "Clint! That – shouldn't work. Neural impulses and synaptic connections…"

"Oh my God, please keep talking dirty," he answered, licking her knee again.

"What..?"

"Science. Talk science."

Jemma glanced down along his body, eyes widening as she saw his cock thickening, coming to attention again. "My brain doesn't work when you're doing that," she whimpered a bit pathetically as his mouth travelled slowly up her inner thigh, and Clint chuckled softly.

"It doesn't have to make sense, sweetheart. Just say some long sciency words."

"Deoxyribonucleic acid," Jemma said vaguely, and felt Clint's breath gust out in a sharp gasp against her leg. "Pharmaceutical studies into the physiological effects of potassium gamma-hydroxybutyrate on mammalian cerebro-cortical _oh my God_."

Clint laughed a bit breathily against her. "Don't stop."

"I c-can't…" Jemma let out a sobbing cry as his tongue slurped wetly over her clit again. Reaching for him frantically, she ran her fingers into his hair and stroked his head, scratching at his scalp in the way she'd realised he really enjoyed. He let out a low humming sound that seemed to shoot straight along every nerve Jemma possessed. Her hips came helplessly up off the bed, grinding herself harder against his mouth.

"Come on then beautiful," Clint lifted his mouth off her for a minute, though he didn't let up with his fingers, easing two deep inside and crooking them slightly, chafing with his thumb. "If you can't talk science, let me hear you moan. No one can hear us now." He returned to his task, but not before muttering "I fucking love those noises you make…"

Inhibitions completely destroyed by what he was doing to her, Jemma cast caution to the winds and gave herself over to sensation. She moaned for him, she screamed for him, she sobbed his name as he turned her over to her stomach and pressed into her gently from behind, his hand sliding around in front of her to scissor two fingers over her clit.

Far from delaying her orgasm this time, Clint pushed her rapidly on to peak after peak until Jemma could take no more. Only then did he allow his own release, finally pulling her down to the bed with him and holding her close, stroking her hair and her back gently as she trembled, taking a long time to come down from the last agonising high.

The last thing Jemma remembered before falling asleep was Clint's lips brushing over her own, his low husky voice telling her how wonderful she'd been. Wrung out and sated, she'd closed her eyes with a very satisfied smile on her lips.

Clint was gone from the bed this morning, and as Jemma slowly sat up, she saw that Boudicca was missing from the wall too. Clint must have gone down to the range he'd mentioned Tony had built into one of the Tower's sub-basements. Looking around, she spotted her overnight bag on the floor by the bedroom door, and hesitantly went over to get it, thinking that she might have a shower while Clint was gone.

Clean and dressed in fresh clothes, Jemma had a look around Clint's apartment. He was tidy, she thought, but she suspected it was because he didn't actually have many possessions. His wardrobe was sparse, he had a few books stacked on a shelf in the lounge – mainly politics and world history, interestingly enough – but the only other personal items Jemma could see was the display of weaponry on the wall. Which, she thought, was more tools of the trade than decoration; even the display hooks were designed to hold the weapons in such a way that they could be easily grabbed and used.

Clint had been a S.H.I.E.L.D. field agent for years, Jemma thought. This was probably the first permanent base he'd had in a very long time. Senior agents' quarters at the Hub were pretty Spartan; she'd seen May's. Perhaps Clint was still discovering what he liked. She'd made her way to the kitchen and was staring in dismay into the almost completely empty fridge when Clint came in.

"Good morning," he murmured, coming over to claim a kiss. Jemma could hardly breathe for how good he looked, bare-chested with Boudicca slung across his back, his arm guards still on. She couldn't resist touching the muscles in his chest, pumped up with the exercise, and he grinned, obviously pleased. "Let me go shower and we'll get breakfast."

Jemma glanced back into the fridge again with a frown and Clint laughed. "Not here. You said this place is like living in a six-star hotel; that includes a breakfast chef. We'll go down and you can order whatever you want. You can go ahead of me if you want: just tell JARVIS to take you to the sixty-third floor."

She shook her head shyly. "I'll wait for you."

He hesitated, eyes raking over her, and then said "I'd love to take you back to bed, but unfortunately Coulson's here. He wants to see you at nine."

It was quarter past eight now, so they really wouldn't have time, Jemma realised, glancing at her watch. Not that the thought wasn't tempting. She gave Clint a gentle push towards the bathroom. "Go wash. He'll ask me if I've eaten and I'll blame you if I have to say no."

Jemma had pictured a sort of boutique hotel dining room, but instead she found a large, airy room with a big table in the middle, and an open-plan kitchen at the other where a small dark-haired man was currently expertly flipping pancakes. Steve Rogers was sitting at the table finishing off what looked like the remains of a very large breakfast.

"Morning Clint!" called the chef. "The usual?"

"Yes, please. Paul, this is Jemma. My girlfriend."

Jemma twitched slightly with surprise at the description, but then was reminded that Clint had said he wouldn't sneak around. Everyone on the teams knew by now anyway, she thought, giving herself a little shake for being so silly. Paul was smiling brightly at her now.

"Nice to meet you, Jemma. I take care of breakfast and lunch for the Avengers and make sure the fridge and the pantry are stocked with snack foods and preferred drinks, so if you can let me know what your favourites are I'll make sure we have them in. Right now, though, what would you like for breakfast? We have most of the major brands of cereal, fruit, yogurt, several types of bread, including my homebaked wholegrain, or I can whip you up some pancakes, or waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage…"

"Goodness," Jemma said, a bit overwhelmed. "Well – that homebaked bread sounds lovely. Perhaps with a poached egg?"

"I'll get right to it, Jemma. Drinks over there…"

Turning, she saw a sideboard with chilled jugs of fruit juice and a fancy-looking coffee machine. "Oh. Tea?" she looked hopefully at Clint.

"No problem, Nat and Bruce are both tea drinkers," he showed her the drawer full of different types of tea bags.

Paul delivered the pancakes to Steve, and a couple of minutes later an omelette stuffed with diced vegetables and ham to Clint. It smelled wonderful and Jemma sniffed appreciatively. She didn't have time to feel envious, though, because a moment later Paul set a plate before her with thick-cut toast and perfectly poached eggs. She thanked him politely and he gave her a cheerful grin before heading back to his kitchen.

Steve didn't talk much while finishing his breakfast, but when he'd done he slid his plate aside and fixed Jemma with a penetrating blue stare. "Can I ask you a question, Dr Simmons?"

"If you'll call me Jemma," she shot back with a friendly smile.

"Jemma." His smile is fleeting. "Do you know where Grant Ward is now?"

Jemma flinched back as though she'd been struck. Clint put a steadying hand on the small of her back. "That's restricted information, Steve," Clint spoke for her. "Why do you want to know?"

Steve leant back in his chair, looked Clint straight in the eye. "I want to kill him."

Clint considered Steve. _Well. Wasn't _this_ an interesting development_. Hawkeye knew very well how to put two and two together to make four. "I'm afraid at the moment he is considered too valuable. He's a prisoner being held for interrogation."

Jemma let out a faint snort. "Yeah. Ask May how well that's going."

"What do you mean, Jemma?" Steve cocked his head at her. Jemma glanced at Clint, silently asking if it was okay to talk about this to Steve. He thought about it for a moment and then nodded his head.

"Ward is refusing to talk to anyone but Skye. And she hates having to go down to the vault to interrogate him. Every time she does, he deflects her questions and she ends up coming back shaking or in tears."

Both Clint and Steve looked pissed at that revelation. "Perhaps a different interrogator would be of use," Clint said, his voice like ice. "I'm sure Natasha can get something out of him."

"I'm going in with her," Steve's voice was even colder. "I have a personal bone to pick with Ward."

Jemma smiled at him, also having put two and two together. "I'm sure Skye will be very glad if she doesn't have to deal with him any more."

"We'll talk to Coulson about when and where," Clint glanced at his watch. "Got to go, Steve." He stood and offered Jemma his hand. "We'll catch you later."

"Yes." Steve looked down at his hands. "I'll be in the computer labs. Skye offered to help Tony with the tracking algorithms looking for Bucky."

"Who's Bucky?" Jemma asked Clint as they entered the elevator.

"Sweetheart, that's a _really_ long story."

**Now, I'm afraid I have to say that the plot fairy ran away with me a bit here. There's no more smut for a fair few chapters. But on the plus side, there's LOTS of adventure and whump about to happen!**


	20. Joint Venture

**Chapter 20.**

Coulson and May were waiting for them in an office. Jemma smiled at the new Director, noting how tired he looked and suppressing the urge to fuss. She'd corner him and give him a vitamin shot later.

"Please sit down, Jemma," Coulson invited. There was an informal grouping of three chairs to one side of the office, he and May took two of them. Clint took up post by the window, seemingly lounging indolently against the wall, but Jemma could see the tension in his body. "We have something to discuss with you. A mission only you can carry out."

It was just about impossible to say no to Coulson. Still, Jemma found herself wanting to very much indeed. She glanced at Clint more than once, but he was looking out of the window.

"You really think I could infiltrate HYDRA?" she said hesitantly at last.

"I believe in you, Jemma," Phil said. "You can do this. We desperately need to know what's going on in that R&D lab in London, and you're the only person I trust that I can get in there. Your cover will be as perfect as Skye and Stark can make it. And I'm assigning Agent Barton to be your handler on-site."

Something in Jemma leaped with excitement at that revelation. "Is that not going to look somewhat suspicious?" she queried.

"He'll be undercover too, Jemma. To all appearances he'll be your reclusive upstairs neighbour you've never even met. In reality, he'll have a secret trapdoor into your apartment and all of your communications with the team will go through him. It will save you from having to go through the effort of dead-drops and the like, and will help to make sure no one from HYDRA gets suspicious about you."

They had an answer for everything. And with the thought of Clint close by, watching out for her, and able to drop in on her apartment any time he wanted – well, Jemma said yes.

"What about the rest of the team? Fitz, especially?" She winced at the thought of telling him she was leaving.

"We're going to be based here," May said then. "Fitz will be kept busy in Stark's labs, I promise you."

"I thought you didn't want to privatise S.H.I.E.L.D., sir?" Jemma looked at Phil.

Phil sighed and sat back. "I don't really see that we have much choice. We have no funding. No resources. The world's spy agencies and militaries are after us. There's only a few people left who even want S.H.I.E.L.D. to exist any more, Jemma, and most of them are in this room right now. Maria Hill was right, as she usually is. If we're going covert – and we have to – the money has to come from somewhere. Stark is willing, provided that we cut him into the information loop. As of now, we're a joint venture with the Avengers Initiative."

_Does that mean I'm an Avenger?_ Jemma somehow managed to keep the idiotic question from springing from her lips. _No, I'm just banging one_. She smiled. "When do you want me to start, sir?"

Phil dismissed Jemma and May, but asked Clint to stay. Clint stayed by the window, arms folded, so Phil walked over to join him.

"Satisfied, Clint?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know I need you here as Director of Field Operations." It wasn't a question. Clint inclined his head politely.

"I understand that, sir." Seeing the glint in Phil's eye, he dropped the formality. "And _you_ know there's no way I'm letting Jemma go into the hornet's nest without me there as her backup, Phil."

"I wish you'd let me know about your interest in her earlier," Phil sighed. "How have I become so unobservant that it took May to point out to me that you were stalking Jemma?"

"She keeps using that word too," Clint said, "but I was never stalking her, honest. Stalking implies ill intent and I assure you there was never any of that. I just – never quite got up the guts to approach her. I was so sure she'd shoot me down." He hung his head, making Phil chuckle a little sadly.

"Still working through those self-esteem issues, Clint."

"Always."

"Well, fortunately Jemma has proved you wrong. I trust I need not say how valuable she is to the organisation – and to me? The internal backup is already in place, so that's not your responsibility, but once she steps out on the streets Jemma's safety is down to you."

"Understood, sir." Clint straightened, reverting to formality.

Phil briefed him quickly, telling him that he and Jemma were booked on a flight to London the following evening. Clint would be wearing a face veil and travelling under a different identity. He was just too well known to risk being spotted.

"Before I go, sir, there is a situation developing which you should be aware of," Clint said. "Steve Rogers has expressed a desire to – well, to kill Grant Ward. Having heard from Jemma how Ward is playing Skye and refusing to talk to anyone else, I believe it might be beneficial to send in Natasha and Steve and, frankly, let Steve kick the shit out of him."

Phil considered it for a moment. "How tempting. But why does Cap want to kill Ward?"

Clint shrugged. "You want my best guess, he's interested in Skye. I think May and Natasha might be playing matchmaker for the two of them."

Phil's eyebrows shot up. "Steve and _Skye_? Hmm." He tugged on his lower lip thoughtfully. Clint, watching him, thought how different Phil was these days. He showed so much more expression and emotion than he ever had before Loki. "Al right," Phil said after a minute's thought. "I'll make it happen. I probably should have had Natasha in to interrogate Ward before, but his dislike of her is well known."

"She did slap him down real hard that one time he tried to hit on her," Clint said, grinning at the memory.

"Which is why it surprises me so much that he and May slept together," Phil shook his head. "I still don't know what May was thinking."

"Probably that she needed some physical contact," Clint said. "It had been more than a year since she saw Tasha, and they couldn't even keep in contact. You know how they are, Phil. Neither of them consider it cheating to sleep with men, only other women."

"Hmm." Phil shook his head, dismissing the problem. "I may well let Steve and Tasha at Ward. He's wrecking Skye's peace of mind and we've got almost nothing useful out of him so far anyway." Looking at Clint, he smiled wearily. "Well, be careful in London. I'm glad you'll be there; I need someone I can trust over there keeping an eye on European operations. Fury's over there somewhere and he may make contact. Jemma is your primary responsibility, though. Take care of her."

Clint nodded. "You take care too, sir," he said it quietly. "Share some of the burden. There _are_ people you can trust, you know that. _Trust_ them."

Phil gave him a tight little smile and then dismissed him. Clint left, shaking his head. Coulson was trying to do everything himself. It wouldn't end well. He'd have to ask May and Tasha to keep an eye on Coulson while he was in London with Jemma – he couldn't help a grin at that. _In London with Jemma._ They'd practically be living together. He'd be able to see her every night when she got home from work.

Well, right now he needed to find her and brief her on her cover. Not that they were really giving her one: she was going in under her own name, her story simply that S.H.I.E.L.D. no longer had the resources to allow her to pursue her scientific interests.

Clint wasn't surprised, when he quizzed JARVIS, that Jemma was back in Bruce's labs. "No message, thanks, JARVIS," he responded to the AI's query. "I'll meet with her for lunch. No doubt she'd having too much science fun right now."

"I'm sure that your consideration would be appreciated by Miss Simmons if she knew of it, Mr Barton," JARVIS responded politely. After a short pause the AI suggested; "Your presence might be appreciated in Lab 86, Mr Barton."

Clint raised his brows. Lab 86 was the Tower's 'nerve centre'; nicknamed 'Hacker paradise'. "Very well, make it so, JARVIS."

"Aye aye, Mr Barton," JARVIS responded promptly, and the elevator zoomed upwards.

Skye was there with Tony – no surprise there – and Natasha, which might have surprised Clint a little more if he hadn't known she was actually quite interested in the young hacker. May had told her all about Skye's skills and how she had managed some remarkable hacks with limited resources. And Steve was there too, being as unobtrusive as he could – which wasn't very, as Tony kept making sarcastic remarks about Cap's supposed inability with modern technology.

Every time Tony said something, Clint saw Skye's typing slow down. She never said anything, but clearly she was fighting the urge to slap Tony upside the head. Grinning, Clint walked over and did it for her.

"Hey, what was that for?" Tony swivelled around and glared at him.

"Being an ass. Regular smacks required to keep him in line," he told Skye. "Feel free. We all do. Just don't smack his ass, he likes that."

Natasha, tapping away at her own keyboard, glanced at Clint and shared a private little grin with him.

"Oh," Skye said a bit nervously, "I don't think I could…"

"Sure you can. Steve's too nice, so his friends have to smack the manners into Tony for him. Just wait until he hasn't got his armour on, or you'll hurt your hand." Clint hopped up on a desk and crouched so he could see everyone's screens. "So. Who're we hacking today?"

"HYDRA," Natasha didn't take her eyes off her screen. "Skye wrote a highly entertaining little program that's been piggybacking its way from Cybertek across lots of different HYDRA systems. There's all sorts of fascinating information here. We've just got to sift through the Nazi propaganda crap to find it."

"Wait," Steve lunged forward suddenly as an image flashed across Skye's screen. "Go back."

Skye paused, tapped a few keys, looked over her shoulder at Steve, who was looming behind her chair. "That?"

"Fuck," Natasha, Clint and Steve all said in unison.

"Thought you said he was dead?" Clint said angrily.

"I thought Sam killed him!" Steve snapped back.

"I'd assumed he was crushed under the Triskelion rubble," Natasha said thoughtfully. "We pulled Sam out of the building just as it collapsed. No way Rumlow should have survived that."

They all looked at the image on the screen. _Brock Rumlow_, the image was titled, _AKA Crossbones_. It showed a handsome, swarthy-skinned man with a five-o'clock shadow and short dark hair. Underneath, it said _Status:ACTIVE_, and listed a number of mission dates. Several since the Triskelion collapse.

"You know what that means," Tony swung idly back and forth on his chair. "He's enhanced. Has to be, if he came out alive and he's healed up already."

"I hate enhanced people," Skye muttered. "Except you! And, er, everyone else on our side!"

Steve suppressed a grin as she looked at him with wide, panicky eyes. "I understand you've had a few run-ins, Skye. It's all right. We've got your back now."

Natasha looked at Clint and rolled her eyes as Steve and Skye just stared at each other for a few moments. Clint reached out and smacked Tony across the back of the head again just as Tony opened his mouth.

"You spoil all my fun," Tony muttered, turning back to the screen. "Okay, big bad Brock Rumlow aka Crossbones is still alive. We'll keep our multitude of electronic eyes out for him too."

"Too?" Clint queried. "Ah, of course, the Winter Soldier."

"_Bucky_," Steve said firmly.

"The problem is that we have no idea how HYDRA referred to him in their system," Natasha murmured. "He's not in there under any name we recognise."

"What about cross-referencing by dates of missions?" Skye said suddenly. "We can start with the Triskelion attack…"

"Every HYDRA asset on the planet was active that day!"

"Or maybe the day he attempted to kill Director Fury," Steve said thoughtfully. "And Tasha, you said he'd been confirmed, or suspected, on missions going back half a century. If we can find dates of those…"

All three hackers started typing furiously. It was Natasha who sat back with a satisfied noise. "Aha! активы**.** It means "The Asset" in Russian," she translated when everyone except Clint stared at her blankly.

"Okay…" Skye leaned over, squinting at the Cyrillic characters. "Are the files all in Russian too? Because if so I'm not going to be much help."

"Primarily English, actually," Natasha flicked a few keys to copy the file to Skye and Tony's screens, and all three of them dived back in.

Clint leaned in over Natasha's shoulder and made a low-voiced suggestion. She _hmm_ed softly and then tried it. "Hah. Smartass."

"You're into this stuff as well, Clint?" Steve asked.

"I've picked up a few tricks. Helps to relieve the boredom on long stakeouts," he deadpanned.

"Look!" Skye had found something. "The last three mission dates coincide with assassination attempts. Two failed, one successful. All in The Hague. International Court of Justice officials who've been involved in the successful prosecution of Nazi war criminals."

"The Winter Soldier failed in two assassinations?" Tony said disbelievingly.

"His conditioning's breaking down," Steve said urgently. "Skye, when was the last one?"

"Yesterday. It failed. The other two were the same guy. One failure, one success."

"They'll make him try again for this one too. We gotta get there!"

They were all on their feet. Tony touched his chest. "I can't. I'm on light duty only for the next eight weeks."

"We can take care of him," Steve said confidently. "Tasha, Clint?"

"I'm afraid not," Clint said reluctantly. "I have a new mission. Classified, but I'm on a plane to London tomorrow night and I can't break cover." He hesitated. "Jemma's coming with me. She's being implanted undercover. I'm her handler, I can't risk her."

Natasha gave him a knowing look, and then nodded. Tony wolf-whistled. Skye said "Way to go, Hawkeye!"

Steve blushed, as usual. But then he said "That's all right. I'll talk to Coulson: May can take us in the Bus."

"Good plan," Skye said approvingly, "because if we do catch Barnes, we'll need the Bus's holding cell to keep him. It managed to keep an Asgardian locked in, it should hold the Winter Soldier."

"That's a story I'm keen to hear," Tony said eagerly, but Steve was already shaking his head.

"Another time, Stark. We've got work to do. Tasha, suit up!"

Jemma was upset when Clint went to fetch her, telling her that Steve and Natasha were going with May on the Bus. Fitz was keen to go along, and Jemma pleaded to go with them, but Coulson said no.

"You need to be on that flight tomorrow night. Avoid suspicion. Realistically, if they run into any biological issues, you'll only be an hour's flight away in London if they need you, then."

Skye couldn't quite believe that she was going on a mission with Captain America and the Black Widow. It only got more unreal as the Falcon turned up just as they boarded the Bus.

"You weren't thinking of leaving me behind, were you Steve?" the handsome black guy said as he climbed off his motorcycle.

"You back for more punishment, then?" Steve grinned, offering his hand. "Glad to have you along, Sam. Always good to have aerial support." He remembered Skye, then. "Sam Wilson, this is Skye."

"Well, hello there," Sam gave her a very appreciative once-over. "Why is it that whenever I meet an extraordinarily beautiful woman, she's with Steve Rogers?"

Skye laughed at his flirting and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Fitz was gazing at the metallic pack on Wilson's back. "Is that the EXO-7, sir? Is it possible I could…"

Sam grinned. "Oh, I've heard all about you, Fitz. I brought you a present." He held up a thumb drive. "Specs on the wings. Stark's been playing, but you can take a look."

Fitz grabbed the drive with a slightly manic look in his eyes Skye recognised all too well, and headed for the lab doors.

"Wheels up in five," May's voice said crisply over the intercom.

Skye grinned, heading for the seats. Just like old times. Except with Avengers. Steve sat down beside her, unavoidably crowding her slightly with his broad shoulders. She looked at his shield, hanging just inside the cargo door, and shook her head slightly. _I'm going on a mission with Captain America_. _How is this now my life?_

**We're gonna be sticking with Skye's POV for the next chapter. Shit's goin' down! I've also managed to write quite a few chapters ahead of myself so will increase posting frequency for a few days…**


	21. No One's Prize

**Chapter 21.**

They landed in Holland a few hours later. Steve and Natasha claimed the motorbikes, Sam and May hopped in the SUV.

"No," May told Skye when she made to get in the back seat. "You stay here with Fitz. Barnes is too dangerous."

"But…" Skye started.

"No. Natasha can do any on-site hacking we need. You stay here. We've all got cameras on. You're Mission Control, Skye; don't fuck up." And with that stunning statement, May climbed into the driver's seat and was gone.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Skye raced back up the stairs to the control room and sat down, swiftly manipulating the screens. After a moment, she decided to use Steve's feed as the primary focus. He was most likely to be the one any trouble rained down on, after all.

They'd analysed the planned movements of the target for the next few days, and Natasha, after consulting with Clint before he left the Tower, had picked out the most likely times and locations for the Winter Soldier to make another assassination attempt. At the very least, they hoped to save the International Court of Justice judge's life. With any luck, they'd capture Bucky Barnes in the process.

For two days, they checked out likely spots and found nothing. They rested when the target did, although Steve and Natasha appeared to need less sleep than the others and took turns standing guard at the judge's apartment. Trying to stay covert, they avoided letting the target know they were there. By the third day, they were all thoroughly fed up and beginning to think the mission was a bust.

Exhausted, Skye rubbed at her eyes. "Okay, one more possibility tonight. The sniper post Clint marked as likely, once the target leaves the building." The judge was having dinner at a friend's house. The target would be briefly exposed as he walked to his car and Clint had pointed out several potential sniper nests, marking one of them as the one he'd personally choose. Since Barnes had been an expert sniper, they were assuming that he would use the same selection criteria as Clint.

May and Steve were at ground level in the street, keeping an eye on the house, Steve hoping to be able to use his shield to protect the judge if necessary. Sam lifted Natasha to the roof of the building Clint had selected and then flew off to check out some of the other possible sniping spots.

Natasha said something in Dutch, and May barked over the com, "Widow, report!" Skye hastily flicked to Natasha's camera feed, and saw it tilted up, the Russian obviously looking up at the two tall, black-clad men towering over her.

"Widow has company," Skye said into her mike. "Two probable hostiles. Make that definite hostiles," as Natasha glanced down and Skye saw a gun.

More words in Dutch, softly spoken in a beguiling tone, and May said "Cap, go!"

Skye watched through May's camera as Steve went sprinting away down the street. _Wow_. He was _insanely_ fast. "What did she say, May?" Skye asked.

"A code. She thinks they're guarding the sniper nest," May said crisply. "Looks like Clint was right. I'm staying here in case there's a backup assassination squad."

Natasha was still talking in Dutch, though Skye could hear the men's voices too, and they didn't seem very friendly. Natasha suddenly let out a sigh. "All right, my friends. We'll do it the hard way," she said in English.

Skye blinked as the camera suddenly whirled and looped. "Whoa. What the…" and then Natasha straightened up, looking down at the two men unconscious on the floor.

"Two down," the Russian said softly. "I'm going in."

"Natasha, don't you dare!" Steve shouted. "If the Winter Soldier's in there…"

"I'll take my chances."

"Wait, I'm just coming in the door…"

Skye brought Steve's view up alongside Natasha's and saw him literally run _through_ the door into the apartment building, using his shield as a battering ram, and go pounding up a flight of stairs. Natasha, meanwhile, was calmly picking a lock.

"Widow, you should wait…" Skye began, and Natasha pushed open the door, dropping flat to the floor at the same moment.

Bullets whizzed past, and then there was a crash of breaking glass and the bullets stopped. Sam, who Skye had almost forgotten about, had gone smashing in through the room's window about two seconds after Natasha opened the door.

Skye sat helplessly watching the battle, a total blur. She caught glimpses of the man Natasha and Sam were fighting, clad all in black, his metal arm bared, black hair flying as he moved. Wow, the Winter Soldier was about as fast as Steve. And then Steve was there, crashing into the room with his shield up, shouting "Bucky! Bucky, it's me, it's Stevie!"

The Winter Soldier froze. Only for a few seconds. But it was just long enough for Natasha to whip out the ICER gun Fitz had given her and empty the magazine into his face.

"They got him," Skye gasped. "May, they got him!" Three cameras focussed on Barnes as he slowly keeled over, and Natasha was on him in an instant, locking on some vibranium cuffs Tony had given them. "He's down, they're disabling him."

"On my way," May was running for the SUV.

"Report," Skye swallowed past a dry throat. "Team, report! Any injuries?"

"A few bruises," Natasha said laconically.

"I'm glassed all to hell and I think I damaged a wing," Sam said a bit more dismally. "Tell Fitz he'll get to look them over after all."

"I'm fine, Skye," Steve said quietly. "We'll see you back at the Bus shortly. Rogers, out."

Skye let out a sigh of relief, watching as Steve hauled Barnes over his shoulder and they all headed down the stairs. She waited until they'd loaded Barnes into the back of the SUV, Natasha squatting over him with a fresh magazine of ICERs in her gun, and Sam and Steve went to get the motorbikes, before leaving the control room and heading downstairs to speak to Fitz.

"Fitz?" she called as she entered the lab. She'd hardly seen him for the last couple of days. He'd taken responsibility for feeding them both, but since his idea of cooking was collecting takeout, he might not actually be here right now. Although he was supposed to check in with her before going out. "Fitz?" she peered around. Or maybe he was asleep… she turned to head back upstairs to the sleeping compartments, grinning to herself that she was already thinking about asking Stark to help her install a mini-JARVIS on the Bus to help keep track of people. Coulson would have a _fit_.

Fitz wasn't in his capsule. Or in the kitchen. Wondering if she'd somehow missed him, Skye walked back towards the command centre, calling his name. She thought she heard a response and looked back towards the computers. There was someone there, but it wasn't Fitz.

Skye froze. Fuck, she wasn't even armed! May was so going to kill her ass – if she survived this – she looked up over the barrel of the gun pointing at her and her eyes widened.

"You!"

"Interesting," Brock Rumlow said, taking a couple of steps closer. "The hacker. The prize Garrett promised Ward."

"I'm no-one's prize!" Skye spat, enraged at the mention of Ward.

"No?" His eyes raked over her. "You might be wrong about that." He glanced back at the screens, still streaming live feed from the team out on the ground. Skye looked too, hoping desperately that they were close, but she knew that they had to be still at least ten minutes out. She had to delay Rumlow at least that long – she looked frantically around for something to use as a weapon.

"I'd planned to steal the plane, but your electronic overrides are a bit too tricky to bypass in the limited time we have. Well, you and the engineer will have to do as compensation. For now."

_They have Fitz!_ was all Skye had time to think before Rumlow held something that looked like a tiny aerosol can out towards her and pressed a button. She gasped before her brain kicked in. _Don't breathe…_

_Too late_. Skye's body hit the floor in a limp pile of limbs. Rumlow smiled.

"Not Ward's prize now, sweet thing." He stooped and lifted Skye, slinging her easily across his shoulder. "Mine."

**Oh, **_**shit**_**…**

**Hehe. I am such a bad person. Cliffhangers R Us!**


	22. We'll Get Them Back

**Chapter 22.**

"Good, Skye's obviously watched us coming in," May said as they drove up to the Bus and she saw the cargo ramp was down. "Any sign of movement back there, Tash?"

"Not after eight ICERs, my love," Natasha said comfortably. She was sitting on Barnes' chest with her gun under his chin. The slightest twitch and she intended to load him up with another magazine's worth.

"Good. Let's hope he stays that way until we get him into the Cage," May replied, parking the SUV.

"You're sure it will hold him?"

"It held Lady Sif. And she's not only Asgardian but pretty damn badass."

"Huh," Natasha raised her eyebrows, impressed. "All right. Here's Cap. He can carry the heavy bastard up there." The two women exchanged grins as Steve and Sam pulled their motorcycles up on the ramp alongside them.

"Where's Fitz and Skye?" May wondered as they followed Steve, hauling the still very much unconscious Barnes over his shoulder, up the stairs.

"Yeah, I need to get my wing looked at soonest," Sam grumbled, behind them. His right wing had only partly retracted and had been dragging him off balance all the way back, slowing them down. He'd taken the pack off and left it on the lab bench until they found Fitz.

Natasha suddenly stiffened as they walked through the Bus. "Stop! Get back!" she whirled and pushed May and Sam back. "Steve, do you smell that?"

Steve paused in his stride towards the Cage door. "I smell – something?"

Natasha was stalking towards the command centre, sniffing at the air. "Stay back, you two," she pointed at Sam and May. "It won't affect us, but you two aren't enhanced."

"She's enhanced?" Sam whispered to May as they watched Natasha. Steve looked at her for a moment, then continued to the Cage. Best to get Barnes locked up safely before he came round.

"Russian version. Same as the Winter Soldier, she thinks," May murmured back. "Not as effective as the Captain's, but a pretty good knockoff."

"Wow." Sam looked at Natasha with a new respect. She turned and came stalking back towards them.

"Serious problem. Faint traces of an aerosol drug HYDRA like to use, in the command centre. A small dose will knock an unenhanced human down for hours. Can you adjust the airconditioning to fully flush the plane?"

"Er," May looked thoughtful. "Fitz could…"

"We have to assume they took Fitz and Skye," Natasha said coldly. "Come on, Melinda. Figure it out. We need to flush it now."

"They took _Skye_?" Steve came striding back from the Cage, his face pale. "Who?"

"Good question. Sam, help May figure out the aircon. Steve, get in here." She gestured at the control centre. "We can use the cameras to figure it out."

Steve paced impatiently as Natasha messed with the screens, flicking through menus until she brought up the Bus's internal monitoring. _Skye_. In the hands of HYDRA. He felt sick. He knew only too well what those bastards were willing to do. In his mind's eye he could still see the tortured, damaged bodies of the men the Red Skull and Zola had been experimented on in that horrible lab. And that was _seventy years_ ago. What ghastly advancements had the bastards made since then? He thought of the file on Deathlok and the others who had been implanted with the Cybertek control eyes and shuddered.

"Here we go," Natasha said, snapping Steve out of his reverie. He looked up on the screen and saw what Natasha was replaying. Fitz, in the lab, turning around startled as the doors opened, only to be shot with what was clearly a Taser. Fitz collapsed, twitching, and was hauled off by two black-clad goons.

"Another angle, it wasn't one of them that shot him," Steve said sharply, and Natasha swooped her fingers across the panels.

"Fuck!" both Natasha and Steve said in unison as they recognised the man on screen. Brock Rumlow smirked as he shot Fitz, before nodding to his men and turning to mount the stairs.

Natasha looked at Steve. "First time I've heard you swear, Cap."

"Shut up," he said tersely, watching as she brought up the cameras in the control room and they watched Rumlow stop Skye at gunpoint, then say something that made her face twist with rage before pressing the aerosol under her nose. He carried her off, smirking.

Natasha decided not to tell Captain that she could lip-read. Telling him what Rumlow had said to Skye would be very much counter-productive at this point. She was glad to hear a sudden whooshing noise.

"May and Sam have got the airconditioning going." She was already bringing up more cameras externally on the plane. "Good. Because we're gonna need to fly." Natasha brought Steve's attention to the black van zooming away from the Bus and driving straight over to a small private jet on an adjacent runway. "It took off only about four minutes ago." She tapped a key. "May, we need to be in the air, right now!"

A few seconds later May went belting past, heading for the cockpit. "Get me a destination, Tash!" she shouted over her shoulder.

"Working on it, hacking the satellites now…" Natasha muttered.

Steve turned and stalked away. He needed to hit something, and he'd seen a punching bag stored downstairs. He'd set it up.

Sam found him taking out his rage on the bag a little while later. Sighing, Sam sat down with his back against the lab doors. He'd changed clothes, picking all the glass shards out of his skin, but he was tired and sore. And the night wasn't nearly over yet.

"Skye means something to you, doesn't she?"

Steve paused barely a moment before hitting the bag again. He noticed, gladly, that it was reinforced. Hopefully he wouldn't be dumping sand all over the deck. "She's a good kid. And it seems like – I just found Bucky, however damaged and conditioned he may be, we just got him back. And now we've lost Skye – and Fitz. They're good kids, Sam. The thought of what HYDRA will do to them if we don't get them back…" he shuddered.

"We'll get them back. We're heading for London now, only fifteen minutes behind them. Clint's there, Natasha's called him for backup. Natasha reckons they're taking them to the lab in London Jemma's being sent undercover at. But they have to transport them there from the airport, that jet needs a runway to land. Clint's going to try to set up an ambush so we have a chance to snatch Fitz and Skye back without having to storm the lab."

"Hmm." Steve's lips set in a straight line Sam knew too well.

"Steve, storming that lab would not go well for us with no planning and no backup. This isn't 1945. We try this Natasha's way first. Failing that – well, Thor's on his way too."

"Good," Steve nodded sharply. "It's just a shame we didn't think to bring Banner."

"That was your call, if you remember. Let me see, what did you say when I asked? Oh yes, you said you'd rather the Winter Soldier didn't get smashed before you had a chance to try and take him down peacefully."

"Yes, thanks for that, Sam, but if we'd left Banner on the plane we wouldn't have this problem now!" Steve launched another punch at the bag.

"Might not have a plane, though," Sam said dryly.

"I've got Clint up on comms," Natasha's voice crackled in Sam's ear, and he acknowledged and tossed Steve an earpiece.

"Can't you lot keep out of trouble for just a few days?" Clint said plaintively. "Honestly, I'm just trying to settle into nice domestic bliss with my girlfriend pretending to be an evil scientist and I get a call from you lot that you're dropping trouble in my lap."

"Thanks for the colour commentary, but this is serious," Steve snapped. "Rumlow has Fitz and Skye, and if they get them to that lab, there isn't going to be anywhere for Jemma to be undercover _at_, so let's get to work."

"As you wish," Clint gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I can see them coming in to land at London City Airport now." He was on a rooftop across the river, not far from the HYDRA lab, watching through his night-vision binoculars. "You've caught up with them a bit in the air, May says you're only seven minutes out. I'm gonna hack traffic lights to slow them down so you can catch up."

"Fuck," Sam muttered in an aside to Steve, "is _everyone_ on the Avengers a multi-tasking genius?"

"Yes," Natasha said coolly, "that's why we let you join. Are you gonna be able to fly, Sam?"

"I sure hope so." Sam headed into the lab to collect his damaged wingpack. "Why oh _why_ did they have to take Fitz?" he lamented glumly, putting it back on.

"Jemma's not at work, is she, Clint?" May asked then. "Just in case we do have to storm it…"

"She doesn't start work until next Monday. Right now she's safely tucked up in bed. And I would much rather be there with her, thanks very much, so if we can just get this lot tidied up quick smart," Clint riposted. He went quiet for a minute. "All right, the jet's at a standstill. There's a black van pulling up to it."

"I'm afraid we're going to need Jemma anyway, Clint," Natasha replied. "We got Barnes. And we're going to need her expertise to help us keep him calm until we can break through his programming." She didn't say that they might need Jemma to help treat injuries as well, particularly to Fitz and Skye, but Clint heard the unspoken subtext.

"I'll send her a text to get ready. I have a spare face veil for her so I'll get her to the Bus as soon as I can." He went quiet again, but the comms were clear enough that they could hear him muttering under his breath and rapid typing.

"Landing in sixty seconds," May said crisply, "hang on to something, we're coming in hot."

It was a bumpy, rough vertical landing, but nothing Steve hadn't experienced before. Natasha came racing down to grab the other bike as he revved one off the cargo ramp, and Sam swooped out behind them. May would follow in the SUV as soon as she had the plane secured. They couldn't risk HYDRA boarding again and retrieving Bucky.

"All right Hawkeye, guide us in!" Steve shouted, picking up speed. They hadn't landed at the airport, but on a patch of undeveloped waste ground not far away. It would have cost too much time to get them through airport security, without S.H.I.E.L.D. to smooth the way.

Clint's voice was calm and steadying as he directed them, and Steve realised he really must be multi-tasking as lights turned green at their approach. "You're less than four hundred metres behind. I'm turning all lights red. The HYDRA guys won't realise for a few minutes, but no traffic will be moving. You can run the lights with impunity. I'll see you on the ground." There was a twanging noise Steve recognised as one of Hawkeye's rappelling arrows, and then suddenly, a small explosion in the distance.

"Just blew up a parked BMW as a distraction," Clint said merrily, "I never did like German cars."

"Try and keep the property damage to a minimum, Hawkeye!" Natasha snapped. She and Steve swooped through three red lights, weaving in between stopped vehicles, and suddenly there was the black van, right in front of them. Steve didn't bother with anything fancy, just screeched the motorbike to a stop and ripped the rear doors off with his bare hands. Bullets _spanged_ off his shield, but a rain of arrows over his shoulder cut them off. Steve glanced over his shoulder to see Clint crouched on the roof of the car behind.

"Driver disabled?"

"They're not going anywhere. But – we might have a problem." Clint's face was grim as he gazed into the van.

_Oh God, please say Rumlow hadn't shot his captives when he realised they were under attack._ Steve lowered his shield slowly, almost unwilling to look, and looked into the back of the van.

Four dead goons. Slumped over the struggling body of Leo Fitz.

"Get me out of here!" Fitz yelped helplessly. His hands and feet were zip-tied together.

"Where's Skye?" Steve barked at him, even as Natasha hopped into the van and cut Fitz free.

"I don't know, they only put me in the van…"

Sam landed on the roof of the van with a _thud_. "What did I miss? I can't bank worth a damn with my wing like this!"

"Get me up there, my laptop's on the roof!" Clint pointed upwards, and Sam, with one glance at Steve, grabbed Clint under the armpits and lifted off again.

Steve stood in the street, his hands dangling uselessly by his sides. Seeing his face, Natasha put her hand on his shoulder. "We'll find her, Steve. We will."

"Rumlow's not here," Steve said dully. "He's got Skye. We've missed our chance."

The SUV came roaring up at that moment and May scrambled out, taking in the scene with one comprehensive glance. "Time to get the hell out of Dodge, unless you really fancy explaining all this to the Metropolitan Police?"

There were sirens in the distance. Steve shared a grim look with Natasha even as Fitz scrambled into the SUV.

"The Bus," Natasha said. "We need the computer support." She correctly interpreted Steve's glance upwards. "Don't worry about Clint and Sam. Clint's evaded police in more countries than years since you were born, and that's not an exaggeration. Let's go."

**Uh-oh. No Skye and no Rumlow.**

**NOT GOOD.**


	23. We Do Not Talk About Benghazi

**Chapter 23.**

Clint arrived at the Bus with Sam and Jemma a little less than an hour later. Jemma rushed up to Fitz, hugging him anxiously, asking if he was all right. Embarrassed to have been Tasered and taken down so easily, Fitz had been trying to remember everything he'd seen, but he really hadn't seen much. By the time he recovered his senses, he was zip-tied on a bed in a small bedroom at the back of the plane, and Skye was unconscious next to him. They'd been left alone, but for one goon with a gun sitting watching them so Fitz couldn't attempt to escape, for the entire flight, and when they landed Fitz had been carried out to the van.

"The plane took off again ten minutes later," Natasha told Clint grimly. He nodded, joining her at the screens.

"Saw that. They filed a flight plan for Barcelona."

"Yeah, well they're not headed there. They changed transponder codes mid-flight, right over Paris Charles de Gaulle airport, sneaky bastards, I nearly lost them. Picked them up again, fortunately, they turned further east. Looks like they're heading for Italy, or Libya perhaps, though I'm not sure they have the range for that. They didn't refuel either in The Hague or London."

"Why aren't we taking off?" Clint asked, looking at May who was standing in the corner with her arms folded.

"Waiting for Thor. He should be here any minute and once we know where they're headed, we can send him on ahead. But Tony still hasn't figured out how to build him a com system which doesn't get fried by all the lightning." Natasha glanced up at Clint and smiled wryly.

"Maybe we should hand the problem over to Fitz, see what he comes up with. Take him your wings, Sam. He'll do better with a problem to keep him occupied. He's too busy kicking himself right now, not that he had a cat's chance in hell against Rumlow. And ask Jemma to check those scrapes." Clint jerked his head at Sam, who had silently followed him in, before turning back to the two women. "Where's Steve?"

"In the Cage with Barnes." Natasha gestured to a screen. "We handcuffed his human hand to a vibranium shackle in the wall with Thor's Asgardian cuffs. Unless he's willing to rip his hand off, he ain't gonna get far."

Clint looked at the screen, seeing Barnes crouched like a feral animal in the corner, facing Steve who was standing facing him with his hands spread. "Would it not be easier just to keep Barnes tranked while we deal with the current problem?" he reached over his shoulder and fingered an arrow. "I can do it without having to get close enough to use a syringe."

May and Natasha looked at each other. "Eh," Natasha said in the end. "I really can't argue with you. Steve's head is fucked up enough over Rumlow taking Skye. We'll save Barnes for later."

"Go do it, Clint," May ordered. "And if Steve kicks up a fuss, remind him that you're under my command on the Bus and he's a guest."

"Yes, ma'am," Clint gave her a cheerful salute and walked out, unslinging Boudicca from his shoulder.

A crack of thunder made Natasha and May both jump.

"That'll be Thor," Natasha said unnecessarily. "I'll go greet him. You get the plane ready to go."

They shared a brief kiss as they brushed past each other, and then May headed to the cockpit while Natasha ran lightly down the stairs.

Steve whirled around as the door opened, and then relaxed as he saw Clint. "Hawkeye, glad you're here – whoa!" But he'd left his shield downstairs, and without it he had no way to stop the arrow the archer loosed. It whizzed across the Cage. The Winter Soldier might actually have been quick enough to evade it – if his hand hadn't been chained to the wall. It was that hand Clint had aimed at, and the arrow struck squarely in the palm of it. Barnes shouted swear words in Russian for a few seconds before slumping unconscious.

"What the fuck!" Steve shouted.

"Orders. We don't have time for him right now, Cap." Clint nodded at the man lying on the floor. "That was enough ketamine to knock down an elephant – or the Hulk. It'll have him sleepy bye-byes for a few hours, and there's plenty more where that came from." He crossed the room and collected his arrow.

Steve gritted his teeth. "We really need to have a discussion about which orders you follow and which you question or disregard, Hawkeye!"

"I've had that discussion with every superior officer I've ever had," Clint said, unruffled, as they left the Cage and secured it behind them. "But if you think you can get through to me where Fury and Coulson failed, have at it, Cap."

Steve let out an exasperated sigh, and then blinked as May ran past him. "I take it we're ready to go?"

"Means Thor should have arrived." Sure enough, they heard the Asgardian's booming voice a moment later.

"It is good that you have recovered Engineer Leopold, but I am most distressed to hear that Lady Skye is still in the hands of those villains!"

"You and me both, buddy," Steve told Thor as they came face to face.

"We shall recover her directly and smite those who have taken her with our wrath!"

"Yes. Yes we will."

"Oh God, Steve's encouraging Thor," Clint moaned to Natasha. "We're all doomed!"

"Takeoff in thirty seconds," May said crisply over the intercom. "How are we coming with that destination, Natasha?"

Natasha traced lines across the screen with a fingernail. "Can't pin it down until they start to descend. Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily – Malta…"

"We've encountered HYDRA on Malta before," Jemma said, and they all turned to look at where she'd just come in. "The first time we came across Ian Quinn. He's the one who later shot Skye, when she nearly died."

"Quinn was in custody," Clint said, "until Ward and Garrett blew the Fridge."

"Think he's back in Malta?" Steve asked.

"Quite possibly. If so, he's laying low." Natasha was back at the screens again. "Actually – no. Last reported sighting of him is in China, just yesterday." Her fingers flew. "And he's due to meet with the Chinese Defence Minister tomorrow. I don't see him blowing off that meeting. Not since he pissed off the US military at the Cybertek debacle."

"Doesn't mean Rumlow isn't working for him," Clint pointed out. "He could just be heading to Quinn's compound in Valletta with Skye, waiting for Quinn to get back. Quinn nearly killed her once. Maybe he wants to finish the job."

"Never!" Thor boomed, his grip tightening on Mjolnir's handle until even _his_ knuckles turned white. Steve said nothing, but his jaw and his fists clenched tight.

Tears welled in Jemma's eyes, and she leaned against Clint. He wrapped his arm around her comfortingly, knowing that she thought of Skye as the little sister she'd never had. "We'll get her back," he whispered, kissing her brow. "Don't worry. We'll get her back."

"May, set the autopilot for Valletta for now and come back here," Natasha requested. "We need you to brief us on Quinn's place there. We can only assume that's their destination until we know more."

Sam came up to join them then, and they all listened intently to May's briefing, Natasha pulling up blueprints and photographs so they could see what she was talking about.

"They've passed Corsica and Sardinia," Natasha said a little while later. "Should have started descent by now if Sicily's their destination. Too far east for Tunis. It's got to be either Valletta or Tripoli…"

"Fuck, I really hope it isn't Tripoli," Clint muttered. "I've got no desire to visit Libya again. Not after Benghazi."

"What happened in Benghazi, Hawkeye?" Thor asked brightly.

"We do not talk about Benghazi," Natasha said in extremely forbidding tones. Thor opened his mouth again and she shot him a frankly terrifying look, her eyes like two black holes in her face. "We. Do. _Not_. Talk. About. Benghazi."

"Right. No Benghazi. We got it," Steve said, nudging Thor who still looked like he wasn't going to leave it alone.

Several agonising minutes passed. Finally, Natasha made a triumphant noise. "Malta. Has to be. They've started descent."

"Right." May didn't head for the cockpit, though. "What's the plan?"

"Thor's going to fly me in and we'll kick the shit out of everyone," Steve said almost cheerfully. "Sam can follow as soon as Fitz has his wings up and running and he's within range. You can hover this thing, right?" he asked May, who nodded, looking at him a bit doubtfully. "Good, well do that. Clint can be your gunner and eradicate any visible resistance on the ground, though hopefully by the time you get there we should be done and have Skye. Thor or Sam can fly her back up once we've got her safe."

"That's a fucking terrible plan!" Natasha said sharply, "Clint and I could parachute in and infiltrate…"

"Not happening, that'll cost us too much time waiting. Come on, Thor. Let's go fly."

Thor was in the mood to smite and their pleas to reconsider fell on deaf ears. Clint swore as he watched Thor and Steve fall away from the cargo ramp before Thor raised Mjolnir and the lightning cracked.

"So how fast _is_ Thor?" May asked as Clint joined her in the cockpit, climbing into the gunner's seat.

"He can match Tony, and Tony's hit Mach 3 in his latest suit," Clint said a bit bleakly. "They'll be on the ground over half an hour ahead of us. Without comms, so we'll have no fucking idea what we're going into."

"On the plus side, they're both really hard to take down," May glanced over at him. The lightning was flickering further away in the distance now.

"Yeah, and on the minus side, they're kinda fucking obvious. Rumlow's gonna know they're coming, and he's got an excellent hostage in Skye. Steve should have let me and Tasha go in, try and find her quietly."

"Let's hope Rumlow doesn't realise just _how_ good his hostage is," May matched Clint's bleak tone. They both looked at each other for a long moment before returning their attention to their respective instrument panels, faces drawn tight with concern.

**Where oh where is Skye? Stay tuned to find out if Thor and Steve get there in time…**

**And no. I'm not going to tell you what happened in Benghazi. Like Budapest, you'll just have to wonder ;)**


	24. How Are You Feeling?

**Chapter 24.**

Skye woke slowly, clawing her way out of vague, foggy dreams. She was really, really comfortable. _Mm_. Was she back in Avengers Tower, in one of Stark's sinfully soft beds? It took several blinks to get her eyes open and look around.

Not Avengers Tower. Somewhere even better. Gauzy white curtains blew at French windows open to a balcony, and outside she could see blue sea bathed in sunshine.

_Nice_. Skye smiled lazily, looking around. She lay in a huge, luxurious bed, soft white sheets draping her naked body.

_Huh_. Naked? Skye didn't normally sleep in the nude. Right now, though, she couldn't bring herself to care. She looked vaguely around some more, taking in the opulent furniture, the fan whirling lazily over the bed.

The door opened and Skye looked across – at the most handsome man she'd ever seen, walking into the room. Tall and darkly gorgeous, he was deliciously edible. Broad shoulders stretched the seams of his black T-shirt, thick muscles bulging from the short sleeves.

"Hey, you're awake, Skye, how are you feeling?" he asked gently.

"Good. You're so beautiful," she said wonderingly, running her eyes over him greedily. He was wearing black cargo pants and tactical boots.

"Thank you. I see you're feeling better." He approached the bed, smiling. His chin was thickly stubbled, and Skye couldn't help but wonder how it would feel if he scratched that roughness over her body. Her lips parted at the thought, heat welling between her legs.

"Was I sick?" Skye asked, bemused. She felt fine.

"A little bit. We gave you something to make you feel better." He glanced at the bedside table, and she looked over to see an empty syringe lying there, before looking back at him. She couldn't get enough of looking at him. She didn't think she would _ever_ get enough of looking at him.

"What's your name?" she asked softly.

His smile widened. "Brock. Brock Rumlow."

"Brock," she tried the name out in her mouth. "Brock. That's a good name. A strong name. It suits you, you look so strong."

He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat now. "Yeah? You like that?"

"Oh _yes_. I _love_ strong men." Boldly, she flung back the sheet covering her. "Please. Please would you fuck me?"

Dark eyes surveyed her body slowly, thoroughly, before he looked back at her face. "That," Brock Rumlow said softly, "will be my genuine pleasure."

**Confession time. I have dreams where I find Brock Rumlow standing over me like that. Only I don't need drugging to start begging. **_**That man**_**. Whoa. He could turn me to the dark side ANY TIME.**

**And yeah – short chapter – sorry. Couldn't resist stopping on yet another cliffhanger. But I promise I'll post a new one tomorrow to put you out of your misery!**


	25. Don't Leave Me

**Chapter 25.**

Skye watched eagerly as Brock stripped off his T-shirt, revealing a thickly muscled chest and hard, flat abs. "Oh," she licked her lips eagerly, staring as he stooped to remove his boots, "this is gonna be so good."

"Yes it will," he promised darkly, and she reached to grab his arm, pulling him towards her.

"Please, please kiss me," Skye begged. She was desperate to feel his skin against hers, and was delighted when he obliged, sitting down on the bed beside her and gathering her into his arms, knotting both hands in her hair and pressing her back against the pillows to kiss her roughly. He wasn't gentle, his hands pulling at her hair, his teeth biting hard at her lips, but Skye didn't protest. She moaned frantically, trying to press more of herself against him, running her hands over his broad shoulders. He brought one hand down and pinched cruelly at her nipple, but Skye only moaned against his mouth again and shuddered.

"I'm gonna really enjoy this," Brock said, pulling his head back to look at her, and Skye smiled, uncaring of the blood on her lip, pleased that he wanted her. She ran her hand down his thickly muscled chest and plucked at his belt buckle.

"Take it off," she asked, and he smiled cruelly.

"Sure, sweet thing. This is all for you," and he pressed her hand against his arousal, thick and hard beneath his cargo pants.

"Ohh," Skye let out a gasp of delight. "Yes, please, please give it to me! Brock, please, I need you!" The longer he delayed, the more she _wanted_. Her skin was tingling, sweat breaking out despite the coolness of the fan. Her heart beat faster as he stood and unfastened his belt.

The room seemed suddenly brighter for an instant, and Brock paused. Then he strode across to the window and looked out.

"Brock?" Skye asked in a small, desperate voice. "Please – don't you want me? I need you so much…"

He pulled something out of his pocket and put it to his ear. "Rollins. Report. Is that lightning?"

"A storm doesn't matter, it'll be outside – just close the window," Skye pleaded, getting up and crossing to stand beside him. Brock looked down at her with an expression something like regret on his face.

"Fucking hell," he muttered. "How the hell did they get out of London so fast? You say Barratt never even made it to the lab? Shit." He looked out of the window, and Skye looked too, seeing lightning flashing in the distance. "Fuck. They've called in heavy-duty reinforcements. I thought he was still on Asgard?"

Skye couldn't hear who he was talking through to the earpiece, and she didn't care. She ran her hands over Brock's chest, leaning in to kiss at his nipples. He grabbed her hair hard, pulling her head back, still listening through the earpiece, and then sighed.

"We're gonna have to bug out. We've got a few minutes at best." He hesitated, looking regretfully at Skye again. "Yeah, yeah, I'll leave her behind. She should keep them busy for a while anyway."

"No!" Skye begged, realising he was talking about her. "Please! Brock, please don't leave me!"

He kissed her again, hard, his hands groping roughly at her breasts. "No time," he grunted then, and spun her around, tossing her on the bed.

"Yes…" Skye said, only to cry out in betrayal as he snapped a handcuff on one wrist, securing the other cuff onto the bedpost. "Brock! _Please_! I need you!"

"Sorry, sweet thing." He gave her a twisted little smile. "Save it for next time." And he was gone, grabbing up his boots and darting from the room without looking back.

Skye collapsed on the bed, sobbing. Feeling really terrible now, shaking and sweating. Her heart was pounding, and it was nothing to do with the lightning crashing ever closer. She ran her free hand down between her legs, touching herself, frantic to relieve the pressure building there.

And that was how Steve found her as he smashed the door down a few minutes later, lying on her back, hand between her legs, moaning Brock Rumlow's name.

**O.M.G. How is Steve going to react to THAT?**


	26. A Foul Sorcery

**All right, ALL RIGHT! I can't take the screams of outrage, the threats and offers of bribery any more! Here's the damn chapter!**

**Independentalto and KennaWynters: I expect to find Jeremy Renner tied to my bed covered in chocolate NO LATER than tomorrow.**

**Chapter 26.**

"Oh dear Lord!" Steve tried to look _anywhere_ else, his face flaming as he scanned the room. No one else present. A man's shirt lying on the floor. A syringe on the bedside table. His eyes passed quickly over Skye and he couldn't help a stare. _Holy wow, she was – no, Rogers, do NOT look!_

"Oh," Skye was staring at him. "You look strong. You'll do."

"Skye – what the _hell_…" was about all he could manage to get out.

"Who are you?"

Steve froze. "Skye, it's me. Steve. Steve Rogers." He pulled his cowl up. "You know me."

"How lovely. Would you _please_ fuck me? I really need it…"

Steve did his best to keep his eyes firmly fixed on the wall behind the bed as he approached, grabbing up the sheet and pulling it hastily over Skye's body, snapping the handcuff chain with a twist of his wrist. "Let's get you out of here, Skye. This isn't a good place. Lots of bad men here."

"Oh good," she giggled, twining her arms around his neck as he slung his shield across his back and stooped to pick her up, wrapping the sheet around her. "Maybe one of _them_ will fuck me. A bad man would be great right now. But I'd like you to do it. Wow, what strong arms you have!"

"Skye, this isn't _you_ talking right now. You've been drugged with something. I'm not going to touch you." Steve hesitated, looking at the syringe, and then picked it up, snapped off the needle and tucked it inside his uniform. "I have to get you out of here."

"But I don't want to go. I want to stay here with the bad men so one of them can fuck me, if you won't. Or perhaps lots of them." Skye began to wriggle in his arms. Her struggles exposed bare skin against his hands, soft and sleek. Steve prayed for strength, tightening his grip.

"Skye, I'll fuck you as much as you want. We've got to get out of here first, though."

"You will?" she went from frantic to docile in a couple of seconds. "Oh good." She started placing kisses along his throat, and Steve swallowed uncomfortably, trying very hard not to become aroused. _More_ aroused. _He was going to hell for this. Definitely_. He set his jaw, wrapped the sheet more tightly around Skye, trying to ensure she was decently covered, and headed back out.

Thor was smashing things not far away, but so far all they'd found were more low-level goons. Steve shouted to attract Thor's attention, and the Asgardian turned, saw him, and came swooping over, hammer in hand.

"You have found Lady Skye, praise the All-Father!"

"Oh, you're beautiful too," Skye gasped. "Would _you_ fuck me? Steve says he will but he keeps covering me up…"

Thor's eyes went very wide, and he stared at Steve, his mouth hanging open.

"Drugged. She doesn't know what she's saying, didn't recognise me," Steve said succinctly. "We have to get her back to the Bus. Now."

"A foul sorcery," Thor said, horrified. Skye was making grabby hands at him, and he backed off. "I do not wish to touch her…"

"If I hold on to her, can you carry both of us?" Steve asked desperately. The sooner they got Skye to the Bus and under Jemma's care, the better. Maybe Jemma had an antidote for whatever this was. Or perhaps she could put Skye to sleep until it wore off.

"That I can do," Thor agreed, "hold on to her tightly, Captain."

Steve adjusted his grip on Skye, and felt Thor grab him by the harness that held his shield. And then the lightning cracked again and they were rushing up into the sky.

Skye had gone limp in Steve's arms. He peered at her, concerned. Her eyes were open, but her pupils were constricted to pinpoints and she seemed dazed. He could feel her heart beating incredibly fast.

"Skye!" he shouted at her, over the scream of wind rushing past his ears. Thor seemed to generate some sort of force bubble when he flew with Mjolnir, which was good, because otherwise their skin would probably be ripped off, but even so some wind and sound got through. "Skye, are you with me?"

Her head lolled back against his arm and her eyes closed. He noticed, for the first time, blood on her lips. Her mouth looked badly bruised. Skye's lips parted and she whispered something he couldn't hear – but he thought it might have been the word _please_.

"Stay with me, Skye," Steve muttered, his voice cracking. He bent his head and pressed his lips gently to her forehead. "Stay with me."

Thor slowed, and Steve looked up. _Ah, Sam. Good_. They couldn't be far from the Bus. Sam waved them to follow and guided them in, and a couple of minutes later they were landing on the open ramp, though Thor took off again immediately, shouting something about having more smiting to do. Sam looked from Steve to the rapidly disappearing Thor in confusion.

"He can take care of himself," Steve shouted, "shut the ramp."

Clint was there, hanging on to a strap, and obeyed. As the ramp whined shut he came forward.

"What's going on?" he looked at Skye, limp in Steve's arms, quite clearly wrapped only in a slipping sheet. "How did you find her?"

The lab doors opened as soon as the ramp was completely closed, and Jemma came rushing out.

"Skye! Oh my God, what happened to her? This way, we need to get her into the medical bay, quick…"

Fitz stared, mouth open with shock as Steve carried Skye past, and Natasha came running down the stairs a moment later.

"You have her? Shit," as Steve laid Skye down and the sheet slipped further.

"Everyone out!" Jemma shouted, pushing them back.

"She's been drugged," Steve fished in his suit and pulled out the syringe, handing it to Jemma. "I think Rumlow injected her with something. I found this."

Skye's eyes opened then and she gazed up at Jemma. "Oh," she said blearily, "you're very pretty. Would _you_ fuck me?"

Jemma started back, almost dropping the syringe. Outside the medical bay, Clint and Natasha both gasped in unison, and then Clint grabbed Steve's shoulder. "Steve, _how did you find her_? What was she doing?"

Steve was scarlet-faced and unable to speak. His head snapped back as Natasha slapped him sharply across the face. "Rogers, this isn't _about_ you! It's about Skye! If this is what we suspect," she shared a look of dread with Clint, "Skye's life is in danger. Tell us. Now!" She shouted the last word, and Steve took a deep breath, fixed his eyes on the ceiling and started speaking.

"She was naked on a bed, alone. One hand cuffed to the bed. Her hand was," he gestured down at his groin, "and she was moaning Rumlow's first name. When I entered the room, she didn't appear to recognise me. She, uh, complimented my appearance and asked me to have sex with her. When we encountered Thor she asked him too."

"Shit," Clint and Natasha said in unison, and then Natasha turned on Fitz.

"You. Out. Get back to the lab. Go play with Falcon's wings some more." She looked at Clint. "You better go take over from Melinda. Get us out of here – somewhere friendly."

"There's a base in Portugal," Clint shrugged. "Best bet short of the States."

"Go for it, then. Send Melinda down here. She's Skye's SO."

Jemma was trying to put a blood-pressure cuff on Skye, hampered by the fact that Skye kept trying to pull her down to kiss her. "Uh, Agent Romanoff? I think I need some help."

Natasha scowled, staring at Steve. "Stay," she ordered him, pointing at his feet. He winced, but didn't move as she went into the medical bay and assisted Jemma in strapping Skye's arms and legs down to the gurney. She also pulled a little tool from a pocket and removed the remaining handcuff from Skye's wrist, tossing it into the bin with a disgusted scowl.

May came hurrying down a minute later and rushed in to join the other women. Steve felt the plane change direction at that moment and realised that Clint must have taken over piloting.

May was speaking urgently to Jemma, and really, she should be keeping her voice lower. Super-soldier enhancement meant Steve couldn't avoid hearing her.

"Jemma, this is a nasty HYDRA drug. We've seen it before, although it was aerosolised then, and the previous cases didn't appear to have the memory disassociation Skye is experiencing, but this is the drug for which form 7A WF 83429 was created."

Jemma obviously had to think for a moment about what May had said, and then her eyes flew wide and she said in disbelief, "The sex pollen form?"

"Yes."

Steve's mouth had fallen open as soon as Jemma said 'sex pollen'. He remembered that form; he'd had to fill it in when he officially joined S.H.I.E.L.D. He'd put Natasha down as his consensual person, after asking her permission. She'd laughed and told him it was a moot point. That particular drug didn't affect the serum-enhanced.

Natasha had been tapping on a tablet while May spoke, and she looked up now with an expression of dread. "I've found Skye's form."

"Who did she put down to grant consent to?" May looked at her.

"Grant Ward."

"Oh, hell no!" Steve started forward. "No! She'd rather die!"

"Steve, she could _well_ die!" Natasha snapped at him. "This is a horrible drug: the person given it gets sicker and sicker the longer they go without endorphin release. Her pain levels and her heart rate are going to increase until her heart literally gives out. There's an antidote, but this drug obviously isn't exactly the same as the one we know about. Jemma needs to test the antidote before we give it to Skye or we could kill her anyway!"

"I could maybe give her something that would make her temporarily lucid, counteract the worst effects for a short period," Jemma said tentatively. "At least that way she'd be able to consent…"

May and Natasha looked at each other.

"I can do it," Natasha said softly, too low for Jemma to hear, though Steve picked it up perfectly. "For that matter, so could you."

"Let's get real, we'd both rather not unless she asks us to. And I'm her SO, it's my call. Jemma, give her whatever that is you were talking about. And then go test the standard antidote against what's in that syringe."

"Yes, Agent May," Jemma rushed out, and was back a minute later with another syringe. "This might not last long, so be quick," she warned, and then slipped the syringe into the IV tree she'd hooked up to Skye's arm while they talked.

They all waited, staring at Skye. She sighed after a few moments and her eyelids fluttered open. "What happened?" she stared at them all vaguely, and then suddenly her eyes went wide. "Oh my God! He – Rumlow – he _touched_ me! I'm going to be sick."

Jemma hastily elevated the bed as Natasha thrust a bowl under Skye's chin. Skye retched helplessly, though she didn't seem to have anything in her stomach to throw up. Jemma stroked her hair back from her face and gave her a drink of water when she finally managed to stop.

"Skye," May said once Skye had stopped, "I need you to listen to me carefully. You've been given a seriously dangerous drug. HYDRA have used it before, although the variant used on you seems a little different. They use it to control and distract. It's colloquially called sex pollen within S.H.I.E.L.D. and there's a consent form." She carried on explaining, and as soon as she said Ward's name, Skye started shaking her head violently.

"No. No. I rescind my consent. Not _him_. Delete that form right now."

"Done," Natasha said quietly, swiping her fingers over the tablet. "We couldn't get him here, or you to him, in time to help anyway, so it's a moot point."

"I'm glad to hear you refuse anyway, Skye. But the fact is, you need to choose someone to help you through this. Jemma won't be able to get the antidote ready in time, and your heart won't take the strain, no matter what we give you," May warned.

"I need to pick someone to have sex with?" Skye whispered, tears gathering in her eyes.

Steve wanted very badly to break something. Preferably every bone in Brock Rumlow's body.

"Technically you just need to trust someone enough to give you a lot of orgasms, until Jemma can come up with the antidote, although yes, sex is the easiest way to get someone stabilised until the antidote can be given," Natasha said coolly. She hesitated, glanced at May, then Jemma. "Both Clint and I have helped victims though this before."

Jemma gasped, and Skye glanced at her. "Not Clint. I couldn't do that to Jemma."

Jemma let out a gulp. "Skye, it's okay. He could – he'd take care of you. I trust him."

"_No_. Not Clint." Skye looked back at Natasha, then at May. And then she saw Steve outside the door. For a moment she went still. Then she said, directly to him "Are you offering? I seem to recall you did before."

_I am so going straight to hell. _"I was trying to stop you from offering yourself up as a HYDRA gang-bang victim," Steve said, and then kicked himself for tactlessness as Skye's eyes filled with tears again. "Oh, God. Please don't cry."

Natasha, May and Jemma were all giving him death stares. "Sam's here too, if you prefer," Natasha said softly. "Or Fitz, but…"

Jemma choked. "I, er, don't think I'd trust Fitz to have the _expertise_ to do what would be necessary."

Natasha turned to look at Steve and very slowly raised one red eyebrow.

Steve hadn't thought he could blush any deeper, but right now his face felt like it was on fire. "Skye, I'll take care of you, if that's what you want," he said gently, not meeting Natasha's eyes. She knew very well he wasn't all _that_ innocent. He'd spent a year in Hollywood and another one on tour with a bus full of USO girls. Just because he hadn't shown any interest in a woman since waking up – well, he had, but _she_ didn't know that.

Skye looked at him for a long moment. "Steve," she said. "I choose Steve."

"Her heart's at 180," Jemma said then, "I need to get to work…"

"Everyone out," May ordered briskly, "Steve, make her more comfortable. And then bring her up to my office. At least there's a decent sized bed there. Jemma, go."

"One moment…" Jemma hastily disconnected the IV from Skye's arm. "All right."

A moment later the tiny medical bay was empty except for the two of them. Skye was beginning to pant, sweat pouring down her skin. "Steve," she said in a tiny voice, "please, Steve, it hurts…" her hips were shifting around uncomfortably.

Steve swallowed, realising exactly what May had meant by _make her more comfortable_. "Hush," he eased one hip onto the bed beside Skye. "Skye, I'll make it go away, I promise. I'll take care of you."

"Please," Skye sobbed it, and he saw that her pupils were constricting again.

"It's all right," Steve said gently, and he drew back the sheet.

**WOW. Just, wow. Incidentally, I borrowed form 7A WF 83429 from the very excellent story (about Steve and Darcy) of the same name by ****victoria_p (musesfool) on Ao3. (Just paste 7A WF 83429 into the Ao3 search box, it's the third one on the list when I search this way).**

**And yes, I am going to write out the whole scene, so if explicit isn't your thing (in which case, how the hell did you get this far in this fic?) DO NOT read the next chapter.**


	27. Don't Be Scared

**Chapter 27.**

Skye moaned as Steve touched her knee tentatively. "Please. Steve, please, you won't hurt me, I need…"

He realised, suddenly, that both her wrists and ankles were cuffed to the gurney. "I'm already going to burn in hell," he muttered gruffly, "no way am I doing this to a woman who can't even resist." He reached to undo the straps at her feet.

"Steve," Skye wailed, jerking her hips frantically, "never mind that, _PLEASE_!"

"All right," he said hurriedly, "all right, Skye, shhh, try and relax." One hand scrabbled at the Velcro straps as he stroked the other up her leg. He could see wetness between her thighs, and as he tentatively touched her she lifted her hips against his hand.

"Yes," Skye gasped as Steve finally put his hand where she wanted it. He released one of her hands at the same time and she brought it down to grab his wrist, pressing his fingers hard against her and riding his hand. "There. Omigod. _There_."

Steve hated himself for wanting to bring his fingers to his mouth and taste. Instead, he stroked gently, circling her clit with his fingers, pressing more firmly when she tugged at his wrist, letting out a little gasp of relief as Skye suddenly jerked and gasped, her head arching back, her small fingers clenching tight against his hand.

Skye let out a little sobbing sound and collapsed back against the pillow. "Thank you," she muttered drunkenly.

Steve hesitated, and then remembered what May had said. "Come on, doll. Let's get you somewhere more comfortable." He tucked the sheet about her again before lifting her, cradling her gently to his chest. She nestled her head against his shoulder and made a contented little humming sound.

Clint was the one who met Steve at the door to May's office. "Steve, are you okay with this?" he asked urgently. "You need – look, you need to drop your inhibitions and take care of her, all right? Can you do that?"

"I'll do whatever needs to be done," Steve said, jaw tightening.

Clint looked at Skye, a small smile still lingering on her face, and then back at Steve. "It will get worse," he said bluntly, shoving a bag at Steve. "In here is Skye's vibrator. May got it from her room. And some condoms."

Face flaming, Steve shook his head. "Natasha said sex wasn't necessary…"

"Natasha is the only person who's known to have gotten someone through this without actually having penetrative sex," Clint said even more bluntly. "And she's had _very_ specialised training. You can try. But don't endanger Skye's life with your damned nineteen-forties hangups." He pointed at a band around Skye's wrist, hanging limply down. "Jemma left a heart rate monitor on her which we're remotely monitoring. Her pulse hits 200, Natasha's coming in."

"Got it," Steve gritted out, grabbed the bag from Clint's hand, and shoved the office door open. Pausing, he glanced at Clint. "Bucky…"

"I'll keep Barnes unconscious until we've got time to deal with him," Clint promised, pushing Steve into the office. "Forget him. Worry about Skye."

Steve nodded, kicked the door shut behind him and laid Skye gently down on the bed.

"Why don't you want to have sex with me?" Skye asked in a small voice, and Steve cursed inwardly, sitting down beside her and taking one of her hands in his.

"Because you don't really want to have sex with _me_," he told her, running his free hand though his hair in exasperation. "This is the drug in you talking, Skye. When you realised that Rumlow had touched you, you felt sick. I don't want you throwing up because of me when you're over this, or unable to look me in the eye. We're friends, and I don't have so many friends that I want to lose one because I took advantage of her in a vulnerable situation."

"Oh," Skye sighed. "Damn. Because you are really, seriously hot. We could just hook up and still be friends tomorrow?"

"Still sounds like the drug talking," but he smiled, because she did sound more like the Skye he was coming to know. "Listen, while you're reasonably lucid, can you tell me what Rumlow did to you? Did he rape you? I'm going to kill him anyway if Thor didn't get the job done, by the way, but – well, you might need blood tests, or a morning after pill…"

Skye was shaking her head. "No, thank God, it didn't get that far. Wasn't far off, though, when he saw Thor's lightning in the distance and decided to bug out. He was talking to someone on comms, they hadn't expected pursuit so soon. Rumlow decided to leave me there so you wouldn't follow. Said you'd have your hands full with me." She gave a wry little smile. "I guess I know now what he meant, huh?"

"Skye, don't worry about that," he couldn't help stroking her dark hair back from her face. "We just want you to be okay again. I was scared out of my mind when we got back to the Bus and found you and Fitz gone."

"Fitz is okay?" she asked, eyes widening. "I saw him downstairs…"

"He's fine."

"Good," she breathed, and then she ran her fingers up his arm. "I get that you don't want to have sex with me. But would you please let me look at you?" It was a shy, sweet little smile she gave him. "You are _very_ gorgeous. All those muscles will feed my fantasies nicely."

Steve smiled. "All right, sweetheart. Whatever you want."

"Except sex," Skye said as he peeled the top of the suit off.

Steve swallowed nervously. "If it turns out that you need that, yes, that too. But we'll try it the other way first, hmm?"

"Mmm," Skye agreed, her eyes glazing over as he turned back to her. "Oh. Can I touch you? Please?"

Steve didn't hesitate. "Of course you can." He lay down beside her, letting her run her hands greedily over his chest and shoulders.

"It's starting to hurt again," Skye whispered a little while later.

"All right, Skye. Let me take care of you." Gently he stroked at her thighs, and she parted them willingly, hooking a knee over his hip. Soft little moans escaped her lips as Steve ran his fingers through the black curls between her thighs, exploring her folds carefully. It was beginning to dawn on him that if Jemma couldn't get the antidote quickly, Skye was going to get very sore. He needed to be as gentle as he could.

Unfortunately, it seemed that gentle wasn't going to get Skye off. She grabbed his wrist again, holding his hand harder against her, trying to grind on his fingers, broken little pleas spilling from her. Carefully Steve insinuated one long finger inside, crooking it gently, rubbing a little faster with his thumb. She was absolutely soaking, her juices running down his fingers as he eased a second finger in. And then she was coming, squeezing his fingers tight, crying his name in a soft breathy voice that nearly had all Steve's good resolutions flying out of the window.

Steve took his hand off Skye and had to lie on his front for a couple of minutes, breathing deeply and thinking about ice. His cock was painfully hard. _Not happening, not happening, not happening_, he chanted silently to himself.

To his surprise, Steve felt Skye's small hand touch his shoulder, and she asked "Are you all right?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine. I just…" he sighed at her curious look. "I'm having a natural male reaction. You're beautiful and, well, I'm not a saint. Despite the propaganda."

Skye's eyes widened. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Of course you're beautiful. But you're also my friend and I'm not going to wreck our friendship by doing anything that makes me not want to face myself in the mirror tomorrow."

Skye smiled, her small hand still stroking at his shoulder, and then she asked "Would you kiss me? Please?"

"Of course, sweetheart," he couldn't deny her that, certainly not when she asked in that soft, plaintive tone. He leant over and placed his lips over hers, intending to keep the kiss light, but Skye very clearly had other ideas. She opened her mouth under his and licked his top lip. "You're bruised," he told her quietly, moving back, touching her lower lip with the tip of his finger. "Been bleeding, too."

"He bit me," she looked away, and when she looked back her eyes were filled with shame. "I liked it."

"That wasn't you, Skye, that was the drug," Steve pulled her into his arms, and she laid her head on his chest, putting her small arms around him as far as she could reach. "That bastard drugged you and tried to take advantage, and you can't blame yourself for anything. You mustn't. None of this is your fault."

For about fifteen long minutes Skye was able to lie still in Steve's arms, and for the first five or so she was relaxed and comfortable. But slowly, the pain started to creep up on her again. It started with an ache in her groin, spread rapidly to her breasts, and very shortly she was shifting around, unable to be still, starting to sweat and pant again.

"Skye," Steve said, realising she was in distress, "don't wait until it hurts to tell me. You don't need to be in pain."

She let out a strangled sound, fingers clawing at his shoulders. "Help me!"

"Of course. Here," he reached down off the bed and came up with the bag Clint had given him. Rooting around in it, he found not only condoms, a vibrator and a spare packet of batteries, but also a bottle of lube. "Would you rather I used this?"

"Oh, Bob, thank goodness," she tried to grab the vibrator, but her hands were shaking too much. "Please. Stick it in me. I need it. Please."

"Bob?" he couldn't help but grin, even as he quickly squirted lube onto the rubber toy and started teasing it around her entrance.

"Battery operated boyfriend," Skye gained back a little lucidity as Steve pressed the vibrator inside her slowly. "Girl's best friend, switch it on, turn it right up…"

"Let's save the higher settings for later," Steve suggested, selecting the lowest speed. The vibrator had a pair of little bits sticking out the side like rabbit ears, and he figured out they were supposed to massage Skye's clit. She let out a soft keening sound as he pressed them against her, her back arching. Her fingers came up and plucked at her nipples, already hard and pointed, and Steve hesitated only a moment before brushing one of her hands aside and replacing it with his mouth, suckling hungrily. Skye's fingers slid into his hair, pressing him to her, and she moaned again in _that_ way.

Steve let out a muffled moan of his own as Skye came, screwing his eyes tightly shut against the sight of the beautiful girl in bed with him gasping out his name in the throes of her climax.

This was the most horrible kind of torture. Skye was pure temptation. It took him a couple of minutes, in which he deliberately ground the rabbit ears against her clit, prolonging her pleasure, to realise that he really should stop.

"Shit!" Steve muttered, turning the vibrator off and easing it gently out of Skye. She collapsed against him, breathing fast.

"Oh, wow," Skye mumbled. "That was hot. That was really fucking good. Can we do that again in a minute?"

"We'll probably have to," Steve muttered, feeling ashamed of himself. Goddamn it, he _knew_ he had to be gentle, or Skye was going to end up feeling like she _had_ been gang-banged by the HYDRA thugs. How long was the damn antidote going to take, anyway? He debated going to the desk and calling down to the lab, but realistically he knew Jemma would be working as fast as she possibly could and demands from him to hurry it up could only be counter-productive.

Skye nuzzled against Steve's chest. "God, you're so sexy," she mumbled. "Do you have a girlfriend? Are we all going to have to be sworn to secrecy so she never finds out?"

"Nothing like that," Steve found himself smiling, stroking Skye's hair again. "I don't have a girlfriend, no."

"Why on earth not?" she leaned back and looked up at him, her eyes clear and lucid. For now. "I mean, seriously. Girls must be throwing themselves at you."

"They tend to be throwing themselves at Captain America," Steve said, "which is not the same thing. I'm afraid outside the suit, I'm kind of boring. I don't like the things modern girls seem to like."

"Such as?"

This was a deeply odd conversation to have with her naked in his arms, but hell, they had to pass the time somehow until he had to pleasure her again. "I like old-fashioned things. Actual paper books. Movies at a cinema. Walks in the park. Jazz. Modern girls seem to be all about clubbing and Facebook and what Clint calls doof-doof music. Or they talk about things that make no sense. Pepper tried to set me up with one of her friends, and all _she_ talked about was someone called Jimmy Choo."

Skye giggled into his chest. "Oh my God, I am so telling Pepper you said that. I _need_ to see her face." She laughed even harder as Steve's puzzled expression. "Never mind. Steve, there's nothing wrong with all those things you like. Any girl would be mad to not like you because of that." She smiled up at him, and he smiled back for a moment before seeing the corners of her mouth twist.

"Is it starting to hurt again?" he asked softly.

Skye nodded, and he could see the fear in her eyes. "It's getting worse," she murmured, "isn't it? The breaks between are getting shorter, too."

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," Steve vowed. "You know how brilliant Jemma is: she'll be up here before you know it with the antidote. And until then, I'm gonna help you feel better."

"I'm scared," she whispered, and his heart broke for her.

"Don't be scared," he said quietly. "I'll take care of you. I promise."

"When this is over," Skye said, biting at her lip to try and suppress the building pain, "will you take me for a walk in the park?"

"I'd love to," Steve promised. "It's a date."

"Good." And then she shuddered, her brow creasing, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, "Oh God, Steve. Please…"

"Shh," he kissed her gently, picking up the vibrator again. "Let me make you feel good again."

**Oh, Steve. Such a gentleman.**

**(Phew. Is it warm in here, or is that just me spontaneously combusting?)**


	28. Get Back To Work

**Chapter 28.**

A couple of hours later, Steve was beginning to think he was actually in hell. Watching Skye come apart repeatedly, every time gasping his name out in her soft breathy voice, was killing him. She was just so damn beautiful, and even more so when she came, her lithe body arching against his. He'd long since lost the battle not to look at her.

The periods of lucidity before the pain took over her mind were indeed getting shorter, down to a minute or two, and it was getting more difficult to get her to orgasm. He suspected she was sore, despite generous use of lube, confirmed as he slid the vibrator into her again and she winced instead of making a sound of relief as she had done each time previously.

"Okay," he murmured, gently slipping the vibrator back out again, realising with some relief that sex was now impossible. Skye's poor abused body definitely couldn't take it now, especially not since he was quite a bit bigger and harder than her toy. Indeed, he didn't think he'd ever been so hard in his life, aching with need, but it wasn't an option any more. "Let's try something else."

Steve's self-control had been splintering slowly ever since he first made the decision that no one was going to touch Skye but him. Something he'd admitted to himself when she told him, during one of her increasingly brief lucid periods, that she was glad she'd chosen him.

"I'm glad you chose me as well," he confessed, and was rewarded with a genuine smile before the pain broke her down again.

_If he was going to keep being honest with himself, he'd wanted this from the beginning_, Steve thought as he slid down the bed, putting his body between Skye's legs and lifting one of her slender thighs over his shoulder to ease his access. Wanted to know how she tasted ever since he saw her all pink and wet and needy on that bed, her own hand between her legs. He licked a slow stripe over her clit and Skye gasped, digging her heel into his back.

"_Steve_," she moaned, "oh, God, yes, please…"

He let out a low groan of pleasure against her, lapping thirstily, and _right then_ there was a knock at the door.

"Not now!" Skye cried desperately, "no, not _now_!"

Steve forced himself off her with an effort, wiping his chin hastily. "Skye…" he started, realised it was hopeless as she was completely incoherent with lust, and went quickly to the door.

It was Natasha, with Jemma behind her. Natasha looked surprised that Steve still had his pants on, but what she said was "We've got the antidote."

"Thank God," Steve muttered, "she's getting worse."

Skye was wailing, obviously hurting badly, twisting around on the bed. Natasha pushed past Steve and flicked the sheet over Skye hastily, leaning on her left arm to hold it still. "Quickly, Jemma."

Jemma hurried in and pressed the syringe in her hand to Skye's arm. Skye sobbed with further agony as Jemma administered the injection, and Steve's hands fisted tight. "How long will it take to work?"

"Another ten to fifteen minutes," Jemma said apologetically.

"_What?_ Skye's in agony, she can't take the pain for that long!"

"No, she can't," Natasha pushed Jemma out the door, turned around and fixed Steve with a glare. "So get back to work, Steven." The door slammed and he was alone with Skye again. She was sobbing, thrashing on the bed, and he couldn't stand to see her in distress like that. Not when he knew he could help.

"Hush, Skye," he almost launched himself at her, pinning her legs down, thrusting his head between her thighs and putting his tongue against her. Almost instantly she stilled, then shoved her hands into his hair, holding him against her, moaning in quite a different tone.

"More. More!"

_God, she did taste amazing_, the traitorous part of Steve's brain pointed out. She was salt and sweet, musky and all woman. And he was never going to get to do this to her again. He licked and sucked hungrily, reaching one long arm to caress Skye's breasts, the other hand moving under his jaw so that he could slide a finger deep inside her. And long after she had shuddered and gasped her way through a climax, he kept going, slurping greedily and teasing Skye's clit with his tongue until she came again, her fingers tightening in his hair as she cried out his name one last time.

There was a difference this time, Steve realised, as Skye collapsed lax and limp underneath him, her body properly relaxing for the first time since he'd picked her up off Brock Rumlow's bed. She let out a soft, contented little humming sound, and reluctantly he drew back from her, sitting back on his heels and looking down at her, sprawled out on the bed, her eyes closed, a smile curving her lush, bruised mouth.

"Skye?" he said softly, and she gave a small sigh and murmured his name once more. Her breathing slowed.

Asleep.

Steve tipped his head back and blew his cheeks out._ I wish I could say I never, ever want to go through that again_. But, in reality, he knew he was going to convince Skye to re-file that form with _his_ name on it. Because if he ever got the chance to touch her like that again, he'd take it in a heartbeat. Slowly, in a good deal of pain himself, he rose from the bed, palming himself through his pants in a futile effort to ease his arousal. Tenderly, he gathered the sheet and laid it over Skye's sleeping body before collecting the vibrator and taking it into the bathroom to wash it, and his face and hands, before putting it back in the bag and heading for the door.

Natasha was sitting on the stairs outside, a tablet in her hands. She glanced up as Steve opened the door. "We'll be landing in a few minutes," she said.

"Skye's asleep." He sat down on the stairs beside her, leaving the door open so he could hear if Skye woke again, rubbing at his face with his hands. "What a vile, horrible thing to do to anyone."

"Yes, it is," Natasha agreed, and he glanced sideways at her.

"You said you and Clint had both helped victims through it…"

"It's an unwritten rule that you don't ask who the victims were," Natasha said, her face smooth and blank. "Clint _definitely_ doesn't want to talk about it. It cost him one of his best friends." She gave a very tiny little smile. "I don't want to talk about it either, really. Except to say that it ended with me and Melinda getting together."

"She was the victim?" Steve asked.

Natasha nodded. "Yes. She was one of the first people we know to have caught a dose of the disgusting stuff. I hadn't long been with S.H.I.E.L.D., we were on a female-only mission with two other agents and it turned out to be a trap. Fortunately, I was immune to the gas they hit us with. Less good, we were horribly outnumbered and I could only get one of the others out. Melinda was quite literally the closest. I grabbed her and we went through a third-floor window."

"What happened to the other two agents?" Steve had to ask.

"One of them died from the injuries inflicted on her in the gang-rape that followed before backup arrived to get them out," Natasha said quietly. "The other took her own life a few months later when the bastards sent her a video in the mail. I count them both as red in my ledger. You saved Skye's life in more ways than one today, Steve. Don't beat yourself up about what you had to do."

"I'm not beating myself up about that," he admitted, unable to look at her. "It's because I _enjoyed_ it."

Natasha stared at him for a long moment. They felt the plane bump down onto a runway and taxi to a halt, and still she stared, until Steve began to fidget uncomfortably.

"_Men_," Natasha sighed at last, rolling her eyes, and then she got to her feet and stalked off down the stairs. "I'll send Jemma up to check Skye over," she called over her shoulder.

Steve scowled after Natasha, then got up and went to check on Skye. She was still sleeping, limply relaxed with a smile on her face, when Jemma came in, followed shortly after by Clint.

"Everything all right?" Clint didn't even look at Skye, just at Steve. "You did good, Cap," in a softer tone when Steve just nodded.

Steve wondered if his guilt and shame were visible on his face. He felt as though it was branded across his forehead. And despite what he'd said to Skye about wanting them to stay friends, he knew he'd never be able to look her in the eye again. Because if he did, all he'd be able to think about would be how she'd tasted in his mouth, how his name had sounded on her lips when she came.

"I want her back down in med bay for monitoring," Jemma said after checking Skye over quickly, "Clint..?"

"Sure," Clint stepped forward, and was stopped by a hand to his chest.

"I'll carry her," Steve said gruffly. "I – if she wakes up, she might – I'll carry her."

Clint's lips twitched, and he exchanged a glance with Jemma, but they both moved out of Steve's way, watching as Steve lifted Skye in his arms, cradling her gently against him, making sure her head rested on his shoulder instead of lolling uncomfortably. Skye let out a little murmuring sound and nestled closer.

Steve avoided Jemma's eyes as he carried Skye back down to the medical bay. "She'll be hungry when she wakes up, I should think," he told Jemma once he'd laid Skye down on the gurney. "It – took a lot out of her."

"Don't worry," Jemma said reassuringly, "we'll take care of her. She'll be fine. I've read up on the after-effects of the drug and the antidote, and it's very likely that she won't remember much at all of the last couple of days."

"Oh," Steve didn't know if that was good or not. _It's good_, he told himself sternly. _Skye's been through a horrible ordeal_. But at the same time – he kind of wanted her to remember how much ecstasy he'd given her. Wanted Skye to think about _him_ the next time she used her vibrator to pleasure herself.

_Shit, he really needed to stop thinking about this!_ Steve backed towards the door of the medical bay, and just then rescue arrived in the form of Melinda May, who tossed the top of his suit at him.

"Put that on, I need you to come play Captain America. The base commander's being a jerk. Come and convince him we're not HYDRA."

"Yes ma'am," he responded automatically.

**Now why couldn't you say that to Skye when she was begging, Steve, huh? HUH? Maybe he only likes women who give him orders…**

**Okay guys, I have to break the bad news now – I have to drop back from daily posting this for a while. I need to get a few more chapters ahead of myself because once again I've lost track slightly of where the plot is going. (This fic didn't originally HAVE a plot, so perhaps that's not surprising!)**

**That said, I will TRY and post at least every second day. And there will be SOMETHING going up from me pretty much every day, so if you follow/subscribe to me as an author, you shouldn't miss out…**


	29. Who Was It?

**Chapter 29.**

Clint leaned in the open doorway of the medical bay, watching Jemma tend to Skye, fetching and carrying things for her if she needed them. Jemma asked him to turn his back while she washed Skye and put a hospital gown on her, and Clint immediately obliged.

"Do you think Steve likes Skye?" Jemma asked, once she had her friend tucked in comfortably.

"_Likes_ as in, is he potentially romantically interested?"

"Yes. He obviously likes her as a person. But as a woman?"

"Yeah, I think he does. I hope this episode doesn't fuck them up too bad. May thinks they'd suit each other. So does Natasha."

"I wondered if they were matchmaking again," Jemma commented, drawing a vial of blood from Skye's arm for testing. "All right, let's leave her to sleep. I've set an alert to go off if she starts making noise or moving around."

Clint nodded, moving back so Jemma could dim the lights and close the door. "They're pretty good matchmakers," he slipped his arm around Jemma's waist and leaned in to press a kiss just below her ear. "In my humble opinion."

Jemma turned her head to smile wearily up at him, and he was reminded that she'd only had an hour's sleep before he dragged her out of bed to rush to the Bus. Then she'd been up all night, first worrying over Skye, then synthesizing and testing a new antidote, and now she was off to test Skye's blood.

"Can that wait?" he gestured to the vial in her hand.

"Oh," she glanced down at it. "Well – I suppose I could just put it in the machine and program it to process automatically, why?"

"Because, beautiful girl, you look like you haven't slept in a week. And as I am officially your handler, I am saying that is not okay and you need to get some rest."

"You didn't sleep either," Jemma protested as Clint followed her to the blood-testing machine.

"Yes I did, I snatched an hour in the cockpit while the autopilot was on and another while you were working in the lab. I'm more used to catnapping my way through missions than you, too." He ran his fingers into her hair once she'd finished typing commands on her computer, tipping her head back to make her look at him. "Now, Doctor Simmons, are you going to go to bed quietly or loudly?"

Jemma giggled, her cheeks turning pink. They were quite alone in the lab. "Clint!"

"Jemma!" he mocked her scandalised tone. "If you can't relax enough to go to sleep, I'm quite happy to help."

"Honestly – I think I'm too tired," Jemma admitted, "but would you just come and hold me?"

"Of course I will, sweetheart," Clint didn't need asking twice. "Go get into your jammies. I'll just check on Barnes and I'll be with you."

Clint needn't have worried. Natasha was sitting in the Cage watching Barnes, turning a tranquilliser gun slowly over in her hands. She nodded at Clint when he poked his head in, so he left, confident she'd alert him if she needed to leave Barnes unsupervised.

Jemma was in bed, but not asleep, when he joined her, stripping down to his T-shirt and boxers. She snuggled happily up to him, putting her head on his chest, and he was just falling into a pleasantly relaxed slumber when she spoke.

"Natasha said you once helped someone through one of these drug episodes."

Clint's eyes snapped wide open. _Shit_. He was really hoping Jemma would have forgotten that remark. He heaped a few silent curses on Natasha's head for dropping him in it.

"Yes," he said, hoping she'd leave it at that. Knowing she wouldn't. Jemma was too curious for that.

"Who was it?"

Clint hesitated, and then sighed. "I'll tell you, but before I do, let me advise you that there are a few unwritten rules about this drug around S.H.I.E.L.D., okay? Which I'm sure will make sense once you think about it. For obvious reasons, it's not something any agent likes to talk about. The majority of the agents who've been exposed haven't survived the experience, one way or another. In one particularly horrible case, the victim survived a brutal gang-rape and managed to get herself back to almost normal. Then she received a videotape in the mail."

"Oh, _no_," Jemma said.

"Oh, yes. She committed suicide. Skye's been very lucky that Steve got to her before Rumlow did any major damage. So, you see, if someone gets exposed to this drug, every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent knows that you do whatever you have to, to get them away from the bad guys and get them through until the antidote can be procured."

"I see," Jemma snuggled up to Clint more closely. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I'm glad you were there to help whoever it was."

"At the time, so was I. It was later that the problems happened. She was married to a good friend of mine – who was on a different continent when the shit went down. I thought Lance would've have wanted me to take care of his wife, but he couldn't get past it. Got all jealous, even though nothing would ever have happened if it wasn't for the damn drug. It's a pretty ugly story: she got angry that he was jealous over something she couldn't help, that might've killed her if I hadn't been there. They ended up getting divorced and neither of them have spoken to me in a few years."

"Oh, Clint, I'm so sorry!" Jemma forgot all about being jealous of the unknown woman from Clint's past. "How awful for you!"

He shrugged a bit ruefully. "Worse for them, sweetheart. I only lost two friends: they lost their marriage, and they were good together. Fought a lot, the way some couples do; they were both strong-willed, but they did love each other. Neither of them would back down from their position, though, and in the end he walked away."

"That's so sad," Jemma murmured.

"It is. This is a foul, disgusting drug, one of the worst. Skye's gonna need her friends, Jemma. Hopefully she won't remember much, if anything. Don't push her to talk about it."

"I won't," Jemma went quiet for a minute, and then she whispered, "Thank you for telling me, Clint."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead. "It's not a pretty story. I'm not proud of what I did."

"You still saved someone's life," she contradicted. "Be proud of that. Where there's life, there's hope, remember. Maybe the two of them might even get back together one day."

"Optimist," Clint grinned. "Ah, Jemma. That's just one of the many things that I lo-like about you." He kicked himself mentally again. She was _not_ ready for him to tell her he loved her! When would he learn to keep his big trap _shut_?

He couldn't see Jemma's face. Couldn't see the smile that curved her lips as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep in his arms.

**Yes. Yes, the "Lance" in question is Lance Hunter. And his ex-wife is of course – Bobbi Morse.**

**Dearie me, I sense more plot twists on the way…**


	30. That Was Tactless!

**Chapter 30.**

They didn't stay long on the ground in Portugal. Long enough to report to Coulson via the satellite and to refuel the plane, and then they had to head back to England.

"Find us a quiet spot to lay low for a little while," May asked Natasha, "we need to keep Jemma with us for as long as possible, but at the same time we have to get her and Clint back to London before they're compromised."

Natasha eventually came up with a location an hour north of London, on a large estate owned by a rock star who was a former drinking buddy of Tony's. It was secluded enough that they could land the Bus and stay covert for a couple of days. Fortunately the rock star was away on tour and his staff were easily evicted with a fake gas leak.

"You with us, Skye?" a familiar voice was asking. "Can you open your eyes?"

_That's Jemma's voice_, Skye thought. _I should try and do what she says_. Everything was all swimmy when she tried to open her eyes, though. "Nope," she mumbled.

"Come on, Sleeping Beauty," May said dryly. "You've slacked off long enough."

"Huh," Skye tried to peel her eyes open again. "Why'm I in sickbay?" as she started to vaguely make out familiar shapes around her. "Please tell me I wasn't shot again."

"You weren't shot again," Jemma and May said in unison.

"Oh. Good." She managed to get her eyes all the way open this time. Sickbay was familiar, she didn't waste time looking at it. "Why are you here?" she narrowed her eyes at Jemma. "Aren't you supposed to be in London, with Barton?"

"We're not very far from London, and Clint's right here." Jemma waved at the door, and Skye saw that Clint was indeed just outside it, leaning against the wall in that negligent way he had that somehow conveyed that he was seeing absolutely everything and was ready to leap into action, even while looking relaxed. "I'm here to look after you. And Barnes. The Winter Soldier."

"Oh, we caught him?" Skye tried to remember. "What happened? Where did I get hurt?" Nothing really hurt, except for a slight ache between her legs she hadn't felt since that last night with Miles. "Wait." Her hand flew to her groin protectively. "Did I get..?"

"You haven't been raped, no!" Jemma blurted it out quickly, and then looked rather desperately at May, who sighed.

"Skye, what do you remember?"

Skye tried to think back. The last thing she remembered was the endless hours of sitting in the command centre. Except – her face flushed red. She had a sudden flash of Steve, lying between her legs, his mouth wet from her juices, looking up at her from those stunning blue eyes of his. No, that _had_ to be a dream.

"Out, Jemma," May said, watching the expressions change on Skye's face. "I'll talk to her. It's my job as her SO. Go."

Jemma was reluctant – she rather ashamedly admitted to herself that she had a prurient interest in exactly what Skye and Steve had got up to – but she left at May's order and waited outside with Clint. They both watched through the soundproof window as May spoke. Skye's eyes got wider and wider; her mouth fell open and she started shaking her head. Eventually she dropped her face into her hands and quite clearly started sobbing; May put her arm around Skye's shoulders and gave Jemma a _help me_ face.

"Come on, you're coming in with me," Jemma told Clint.

"Me? The last time I got involved in one of these things a perfectly happy couple got divorced!"

"So you can tell her how much worse it could be. She needs to hear, from a man, that Steve won't think less of her for this."

"Oh, he won't think _less_ of her," Clint muttered. But he followed Jemma reluctantly in and propped up the wall while Skye sobbed in her arms.

Clint knew May well enough to make a pretty good guess at what she'd told Skye: that Rumlow had taken her, dosed her with the sex pollen drug, and Steve and Thor had gotten to her in time before Rumlow raped her. Back on the Bus, it had been necessary for someone to relieve Skye's suffering while Jemma synthesised the antidote, and while Skye had a brief period of lucidity, she'd chosen Steve.

"He must think I'm so disgusting," Skye sniffled into Jemma's shoulder, and Jemma shot a glance at Clint, which clearly told him that now was the time to speak up.

"I can tell you for sure that Steve doesn't think you're disgusting, sugar," he told Skye lightly. "He was worried out of his mind about you. And concerned that _you_ wouldn't want to be his friend once it was all over."

"Really?" Skye sniffled again, and Jemma handed her a tissue.

"If you want my opinion," Clint said, "I'll be tactless and say I reckon Steve has had hopes of you since he first met you. Which I'm aware was only a few days ago, but hey, chemistry. Though he's very old-fashioned, it would probably have taken him ages to work up to asking you out."

"Yes, Clint, that was tactless and not helpful," Jemma said tartly when Skye choked out something about _he won't like me now he knows I'm a slut_.

Clint threw up his hands. "I only meant that it won't make any difference except for how long it might take Skye to get in his pants," he said in exasperation.

Skye was beyond hearing it, though, and Jemma waved him out, frowning at him. Clint went, running his hand through his hair agitatedly. _Women_. He'd _never_ understand them. He found Steve and Sam both lurking in the labs, clearly getting under Fitz's feet while Fitz fiddled about with Sam's wingpack.

"Come on," Clint jerked his head at Steve. "Let's go check in on your brainwashed buddy."

"How's Skye?" Steve followed Clint after hesitating a moment.

"Upset. Thinks _you'll_ think she's a slut."

Steve sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Hell, no. None of it was her fault." He ducked his head, a flush coming to his cheeks again. "Skye has _nothing_ to reproach herself for."

"Neither do you," Clint said coolly. He turned to face Steve, looking up into the bigger man's eyes. "Skye _chose_ you, Steve. And if you're beating yourself up for enjoying what you had to do, well don't. She's a pretty girl and you're still a man, for all the serum enhancements. It would be a lot weirder if you had hated every moment of it."

That was true: Steve was struck by the notion. "I suppose – it's natural to want to give a woman pleasure," he muttered.

"And to enjoy doing just that," Clint said firmly, stopping outside the Cage door and checking the monitor. Barnes was alone, sitting on the floor, his arm still cuffed to the wall. "You ready? Natasha's been talking to him. She says his programming is breaking down pretty badly. Try to give me a clear shot in case he loses it." He patted the ICER gun sheathed in his thigh holster.

Steve opened the door cautiously, and Clint came in behind him, hand on the gun. They spread out, watching Barnes carefully. Ice blue eyes flickered from one to the other of them before settling on Steve.

"You're Steve."

"Yes, I am. Do you remember me?" Steve sat down on the floor, putting himself at Barnes's level. "We grew up together, but I looked kinda different then."

For a long moment they stared at each other, and then the corner of Barnes's mouth kicked up in a familiar smile. "When did you get so big, punk?"

Steve's jaw almost hit the floor. And then he was scrambling across the floor to Barnes, throwing his arms around him, heedless of any danger.

Clint pulled the ICER gun from the holster, but it would be a difficult shot even for him, without hitting Steve. And besides – well, the Winter Soldier was hugging Steve back with his one free arm, the metal one, sobbing against his shoulder. Slowly, Clint put the gun away and leaned back against the wall, watching.

"God, Bucky," Steve leaned back finally. His sharp eyes instantly picked up the other man's pained wince. "What? Are you hurt?"

"No," Barnes muttered, "but – please could you not call me that name? It hurts."

Confused, Steve glanced across at Clint, who shrugged. "Pain-response conditioning? Try Barnes."

"Or James? Does it hurt if I call you James?"

"Nah," Barnes managed a half-hearted grin. "Just makes you sound like my mom."

Steve chuckled. "We called you B-U-C-K-Y," he spelled it out, "because your middle name was Buchanan, after your mom's family name, and your father was James too. You didn't like being James Junior."

"Becca used to call me James Junior when she was trying to annoy me," Barnes – James – grinned, and then sobered. "Becca?"

"She died a few years ago," Steve shook his head. "I went to try and look her up, when I woke up. She had two kids, though, and _they_ had kids – there's a great-grandson named Buchanan who looks a hell of a lot like you at fourteen."

"Wow," James looked amazed. "I – don't suppose they'd want to meet me?"

"Probably," Steve shrugged at him. "You're a war hero, you know."

"Yeah." James looked at his metal arm. "I saw the exhibit in the Smithsonian. They talked us up some."

"No, they didn't," Clint couldn't resist. "They didn't talk you guys up at all. Half of what you did behind enemy lines never even got into the public domain."

Barnes looked up at Clint. "I've seen you before."

"Yeah?" Clint looked surprised. "Where was that?"

"I had you in the crosshairs. In – Vladivostok, I think it was."

"And you didn't pull the trigger why?"

"Because Natalia was with you. I – couldn't shoot."

"Ah," Clint shared a glance with Steve. Natasha had admitted to them that she and Barnes had been lovers once, while she was in her training – she'd known him as Yasha. It had ended when he tried to help her escape the Red Room. He'd been caught and put back on ice. Obviously he'd had at least some fondness for her.

"_Natasha_," Clint emphasised the name she used now, "and I have been partners – _working_ partners – for several years now."

Barnes smiled. "I know. She told me about you. She said that when you offered to help her up instead of putting a bullet in her head, it was the first time since I tried to help her escape that any human being had showed her kindness. She was so shocked she forgot to kill you."

"She said something like that to me, too," Clint hesitated, and then walked closer. "If I take that cuff off you, are you going to give us any trouble?"

"No," came the clear response. "Natasha knows how to break their programming. You know that, don't you, Barton?"

"I do know that." Clint released the cuffs, and the only thing Barnes did was bring his human hand down and rub it briefly with the metal one. "She once said it's easy enough as long as the subject actually wants to."

James nodded, turning back to Steve. "No doubt there will still be hidden triggers that will have to be rooted out with time." His smile was sad. "But as long as they don't put me back in that machine again, I'm my own man."

"Too damn stubborn to let anyone else give you orders, even when you're brainwashed," Steve said fondly.

The door opened behind them and all three men turned. May poked her head in. Her eyes widened to see Barnes uncuffed, but Clint gave her an 'all-clear' sign.

"Coulson on the line. Wants to talk to you, Clint."

He nodded, heading for the door. "I'll leave you two to catch up."

"It could take a while," Barnes deadpanned, and the last thing Clint heard before the door closed was Steve starting to laugh.

**So – maybe I simplified getting Bucky back a bit. You want complicated Bucky, go read "A Shattered Reflection". **

**YES, for all those of you who have been nagging me about the original point of the story, we are finally about to get back to some BioHawk smut (next chapter. Promise!). What can I say but sorry? The plot fairy didn't so much sprinkle fairy dust on me as throw a glitter grenade and then beat me round the head with her wand for good measure. **

**And for those of you who have been missing the sexy smut, allow me to point you at my recently posted Maria Hill story, Her Dirty Little Secret, about Maria's secret lover before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.**


	31. Take Me To Bed, Stud

**Chapter 31.**

"Clint, you and Jemma need to get back in place," Coulson ordered. "Skye appears to be stable and no one else has injuries. The longer you're out of position the greater the risk of exposure to Jemma."

Clint didn't disagree. "Yes, sir. Acknowledged." He hesitated. "Agent May informed you of the events of the last couple of days?"

Phil sighed. He was obviously sitting at his desk at the Playground. "Yes. What a fucking nightmare. May assures me Skye will be okay, though."

"Physically, yeah." Clint shrugged. "Mentally? We both know that even the people who don't get brutalised are affected by run-ins with this stuff. She's already been knocked around with all the bullshit with Ward."

"You don't have to tell _me_!"

Clint looked at Phil, realising that Coulson was at the end of his rope. He looked exhausted both physically and mentally. "You're calling the team back?"

"I need them here. And Steve and Natasha need to get back out and be the faces of the 'good guys'. Captain America's the one asset we have that we can use publicly."

"Just remember that he doesn't like being the performing monkey," Clint warned. And then he hesitated, torn between loyalties. "The situation with Skye affected him a good deal," he eventually settled for offering Coulson a Clue. "Be careful how they interact for a while."

"I don't think they will be," Coulson shrugged, "but I'll keep your observation in mind. _Hawkeye_." He nodded at Clint to let him know the message was received.

Clint made his way down to the lab to find Jemma. She was checking on Skye's blood results, talking them over with May and Natasha. He listened intently, fascinated as always when she talked science. Jemma caught his eye and blushed, but he only lifted an eyebrow at her. He could control himself. When he needed to.

Once Jemma had finished explaining that Skye's blood test results were clear and she should suffer no residual effects, Clint dropped the bomb.

"Jemma, we're ordered back to London, immediately. Coulson's orders."

"But…" Jemma protested. May overruled her immediately.

"No, Jemma. You've just told us Skye doesn't need you. We're heading straight back to the Playground once you two leave, and we've medics there who can take care of her. Steve and Natasha need to take Barnes to the Tower as soon as possible, as well."

Left facing united command, Jemma could do nothing but say her hasty goodbyes. Skye was asleep again so she left a note for her with Fitz and she and Clint took their leave.

"It's only a mile to the railway station," Clint told Jemma as he carefully fitted her face veil, "an easy walk. Then a forty-minute train ride, a transfer on the Underground, and we'll be home before midnight."

Jemma smiled, tucked her hand into his arm and they began to walk, just a young couple out enjoying the air. It had been rather nice, settling into her place in London. Not that she'd spent much time in 'her' apartment. Clint's, directly above, had a hidden trapdoor down into her wardrobe. And his place was twice the size – a penthouse – with a king-size bed they'd already had fun trying out.

Walking along beside Clint, Jemma mused on what it would be like if they really could be just normal people. It still seemed incredible to her that Coulson, Clint and May all believed she had the capacity to go undercover in a HYDRA lab. She was a bad liar. Although, as she'd told Trip not too long ago, she was getting better at it.

It happened exactly as Clint had said: they reached the train station, bought tickets and were seated on the train heading into Kings Cross not ten minutes later. Clint was carrying a small holdall in which he had the disassembled pieces of his precious Boudicca. They looked just like a couple returning home after a visit with friends.

Clint could even do an excellent facsimile of a Welsh accent, which amused Jemma no end. He couldn't manage an English one at all. So his cover was as a reclusive Welsh writer named Gareth Lloyd. Ostensibly Gareth Lloyd didn't even know Jemma Simmons.

In reality, when they got back to the apartment building, Clint told Jemma to go get a drink in a nearby café while he checked both out for signs of intrusion. From the café, Jemma could see the windows of Clint's apartment. When his bedroom light switched on, she gathered her takeout cup and headed off.

Clint was waiting in her apartment, leaning against the kitchen counter, his face veil removed. Jemma peeled her own off with a sigh of relief. It made her feel vaguely itchy.

"There's my beautiful girl." Clint's eyes warmed as she came towards him, and he gathered her in his arms and bent his head for a kiss. She melted against him as warm hands traced lightly up her spine.

"Take me to bed, stud," she tried to mimic his accent, and only made him laugh.

"You can't do American any more than I can English, sweetheart."

"It's that Midwestern twangy thing I can't get," Jemma lamented. "I do a great Southern Belle."

"No, you don't, trust me. And you don't need to. Your accent is sexy just as it is," he purred, drawing her towards her bedroom. She was a little surprised when he pushed her gently down on her own bed.

"We aren't going upstairs?"

"No need," Clint grinned, standing back to pull off his jacket and shirt. "Plenty of room here for what I have in mind."

Jemma wanted to ask what that was, but as always she was struck speechless at the sight of his bared torso. He leant over her, illuminated only by the moonlight pouring in through the window opposite the bed, all hard planes of muscle.

"Although you're wearing too many clothes," Clint murmured, gratified that he was able to put that awed look on Jemma's face. She barely seemed aware of what he was saying, lifting her hands to trace them wonderingly across his pectoral muscles, and he let out a quiet laugh and reached to unbutton her blouse.

Soon enough he had her naked, exactly as he wanted her, and knelt down beside her on the bed after shucking the rest of his clothes.

"So," Jemma swallowed to try and get some moisture back into her dry mouth, staring at his cock, thick and hard and straining towards her, "what's on your mind?"

His smile was gentle. "Something a little new for you. Do you trust me, Jemma?"

"Always," she said it without hesitation.

"Good. Come here, then," she moved as he directed, kneeling on a pillow with her legs apart, her back straight, hands grasping onto the wooden headboard. "That's it. Knees a little further apart. No, don't sit back on your heels."

"Like this?" she looked over her shoulder at him, her hair falling sexily across one eye, and Clint sucked in a sharp breath.

"Fucking hell, you're so beautiful," he moved to kneel behind her, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, tweak her nipples in his fingertips. Jemma smiled and wiggled against him, feeling his arousal pressing against the small of her back.

"Mmm," Clint kissed her, long and slow, playing with her tongue until her neck began to hurt from being twisted around. Then he moved back, his fingers still playing with her nipples, which by now were hard and aching.

"Please," Jemma gasped, arching into his hands. "I _want_ you."

"Not yet," she heard the laugh in his voice, and moaned in frustration. Yes, the orgasms were better when he made her wait for them, but right now she felt _empty_, desperate to be filled in the way that only Clint could.

"You're cruel!" she accused.

"Oh, sweetheart," he nipped lightly at her neck. "You ain't seen nothing yet."

Jemma shivered, suddenly feeling chilled as he moved away, taking his hands off her breasts. She started to move back too, but a firm hand on her bottom stopped her. "You stay right there."

She obeyed, and then gasped as he was suddenly lying there between her legs, looking up at her with a mischievous grin on his face, his big hands grasping her hips and pulling her down to him. "You're gonna sit on my face, sweetheart."

"Oh," was all she managed to get out before he was suddenly shoving his tongue deep inside her, his teeth scraping lightly over her clit. "_Oh my God!_"

Clint had eaten her out before – he'd made it clear he very much liked doing it – but never for so long. Jemma figured out very quickly that orgasm denial was _not_ in his plan for tonight, when he seemed to be taking it as a personal challenge to find out how fast he could make her come (pretty damn fast). He pushed her through three orgasms in quick succession, and by the third Jemma's grip on the headboard was white-knuckled, her whole body shaking, and she was sure she would have collapsed long before if not for his strong hands on her hips holding her up.

"Cliiiiint," she whined. "Please."

Her only answer was a dark chuckle – that vibrated against her swollen, sensitive clit and made her moan again – and one of his hands sliding off her hip and in between her thighs to join in. She felt his thumb press deep inside her, curving and twisting and _oh God_. She really didn't notice the movement of his fingers until an unfamiliar pressure at her bottom made her twitch.

"What – _oh_," he'd been spreading moisture, slicking her up, and now one long finger slid slowly deep inside her ass. No one had ever done this to Jemma before. And she really hadn't thought she'd like it. But the pressure – and yes, a tiny edge of pain – was doing extraordinary things inside her, combined with the movement of his tongue around her clit and the tip of his thumb flicking against her G-spot.

Jemma keened, her head falling back, as Clint worked his finger in her ass, stretching her gently. He didn't intend to have her ass tonight – she was too tight and small, in no way ready – but one day, he'd have her that way. He had a fantasy of sliding into her behind while using a vibrator in her vagina, filling her completely and making her scream louder than she'd ever done before.

"That's it, sweetheart," he mumbled against her as she came again, squeezing his finger tightly. "Fuck, you're so good." His cock was aching, desperate to be inside her slick heat. "I gotta have you."

"Uhhhh," Jemma couldn't make a coherent sound. Not that it mattered, as Clint lifted her off him and flipped her onto her back, moving over her, kissing her fiercely, his hands pulling her knees up as he pressed deep into her. "Aaaah!" He wasn't wasting any time, setting up a hard, driving rhythm, obviously holding onto his control by a thread.

"Yes, oh Christ, yes, _Jemma_," Clint gritted out, way too close to the edge. She reached up with trembling hands and ran them into his hair, scratching at his scalp and the back of his neck in the way she'd quickly discovered drove him mad. "Shiiiit," he'd hoped to be able to get her to another orgasm. _But hey. Four would have to do_, he decided, as he started coming down from his own, incredible high. _For now_. He smiled against her hair.

**And yay, finally back to BioHawk smut! Next chapter we'll cover Skye's reactions when she wakes up…**

**Hope everyone is still enjoying, my commenters have gone a bit quiet… are you missing the cliffhangers already? No more for a few chapters, but the plot fairy has been visiting again…**


	32. Hug On

**Chapter 32. **

Skye woke to find Natasha sitting by her, fingers dancing lightly over the tablet propped up on her knees, her feet on the edge of the bed. For a long moment Skye studied the redhead. She'd had very little interaction with the Russian assassin so far. May's relationship with her had come as a complete surprise, but the two women were obviously very deeply attached.

"Didn't think you swung that way," Natasha's voice made Skye jump. The woman hadn't even looked up, how had she known Skye's eyes were open? She could swear she hadn't moved.

"What?" she said a bit stupidly.

"Well," green eyes flicked up to hers, glittering with amusement, "mostly when people stare at me like that, they're thinking about how much they want to get in my pants."

Skye blushed. "I'm sure they do, you're very beautiful. You must hear that a lot," she babbled a bit stupidly, "sorry. But you're right, I like men."

Natasha actually smiled. "So do I. Always thought I preferred them, actually. Turns out when you fall in love with someone, gender's not remotely important."

That made Skye smile back. "I get that."

"Good. I'll ask the annoying question now: how are you feeling? Jemma had to return to London on Coulson's orders, so Sam and I are it as your part-time medics, and I thought, all things considered, you'd rather not wake up with a man in the room."

"Thank you," Skye said, grateful for the consideration. "I feel okay. Still a bit stiff and sore. Like I could use a good hot bath."

"That'll have to wait until we get back to the Playground, I'm afraid."

"Ah," Skye realised she could hear the engines, feel the faint vibrations that meant the Bus was in the air. "How far are we out?"

"Not long. Couple more hours. You want to stay here or would you like to get up?" Natasha hesitated. "If you'd rather not see Steve just now, he and I have to leave with Sam and Barnes right after we land."

Skye thought about it. She still didn't know exactly what had happened. There were just brief flashes of memory, of Steve's face looking down at her, his big hands all over her, his mouth at her breasts. Between her thighs. "Not just now," she muttered, her face scalding red, "but I don't want to avoid him forever."

"Okay." Natasha put Skye's phone down on the bed. "I put my number in there. When you're ready to see him, let me know and I'll make it happen."

"Yeah. Not – I think – I mean, I'd like to be friends with Steve. At least be able to face him in a group setting, or work with him, without feeling completely humiliated."

"Lots of people are going to tell you this," Natasha said quietly, "but you have _nothing_ to be ashamed of, Skye. You were attacked in a particularly brutal way that rendered you worse than helpless and it's thanks to Steve that you're still alive. The majority of people who've been exposed to that drug aren't."

"Really?" Skye's eyes widened. "I didn't know that."

"Truth. They die of heart failure because they don't get enough endorphin release, mostly," Natasha ticked the methods off on her fingers, "or if in the hands of HYDRA or their allies, they get gang-raped to death, or just raped and then killed once their captors have had enough of them. I can count the number of survivors I know about on the fingers of my two hands, and that includes you. Melinda is in a unique position to be able to help you. Let her."

Skye's eyes widened as she looked at Natasha, and after a moment, Natasha nodded once, subtly.

"Oh," Skye said rather inadequately.

"Melinda's not the best at talking," Natasha smiled fondly, "but she'll try. Don't bottle it up and don't blame yourself, that's the only advice I can give you. And don't worry about what Steve thinks of you. He was worried sick about you when we realised you'd been taken, and you've got to remember his morals are from the nineteen-forties. He's feeling guilty because he thinks he took advantage of the situation."

"But – May said he didn't even have sex with me!" Skye wasn't entirely sure how she felt so sore if he hadn't, but she wasn't about to ask.

"Depends on how you define sex, but if you want to get specific, no, he didn't stick his dick in."

The blunt remark made Skye blush again. "Why?" she asked. "I think – no, I _know_ – I was begging for it."

"You'll have to ask him that question when you're ready," Natasha shrugged, "but I think it was about those forties morals again."

"Oh," Skye didn't know what to think. Her stomach chose that moment to let out a loud rumble, and Natasha chuckled.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," she realised, and Natasha tapped her com and spoke to someone – probably Sam, Skye guessed, and indeed it was Sam who arrived a couple of minutes later with a plate of sandwiches and a large bottle of her favourite soda. "Yum!" Skye fell on the food ravenously, and it was only when she finished and sat back, replete, that she realised Natasha had left the room and Sam had taken her place in the chair. She gave him a shy little smile as he took her plate and the empty bottle and set them on the floor.

"Well, that put colour back in your cheeks," Sam said bracingly.

"I feel a lot better," Skye admitted. Most of the shaky, weak feeling had been hunger, she realised.

"Good girl," Sam's dark eyes rested on her face, and she saw only kindness in them. "I know Natasha and May are both talking to you, but I have female friends at the VA who could help if you need someone you _don't_ know to talk to instead," he offered kindly. "You don't have to decide now. Just let me know."

"Thank you," Skye looked down at her hands. "Everyone's been so kind…"

"They wouldn't be acting much differently if you'd been stabbed," Sam said bluntly, and she smiled.

"Actually, they probably made even more fuss when I was shot that one time."

"There you go then. You were hurt, Skye, but you're strong, you'll get past it. Give yourself time."

She looked up at him and smiled. He was so kind, so unthreatening for all his handsome face and his masculinity. "Would you give me a hug?"

Sam looked surprised for a moment, and then he nodded. "Sure." He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and opened his arms. "This okay?"

"Looks perfect," and then she launched herself into his arms, wrapping her own smaller ones around his narrow waist, pressing her face against his broad chest. Gently Sam closed his arms around her, touching lightly at first, and then firming the grasp when she didn't pull away. For several long minutes Skye enjoyed the comforting touch. It had been way, way too long since anyone had just held her like this.

"Thank you," she muttered finally. Sam gave her one last gentle squeeze and then let go, moving back to the chair.

"Any time I'm around, feel free to hug on," he smiled.

"I will take you up on that."

Fitz appeared then, hovering outside the door until she demanded he come in and give her a hug too. He obeyed at once, clasping her tight in relief and kissing her cheeks, flushing to the roots of his hair at his audacity until she patted his cheek and smiled.

"I was so scared I'd never see any of you again when those thugs dragged me in that van and didn't bring you," he admitted. "And then when I found they'd rescued me instead of you…"

"It wasn't a choice between you, we thought you were both in the van," Sam interrupted before either of them could say anything more. "And Fitz, you're just as important as Skye to this team. Don't ever think that you're not. If it had been Skye in the van and you taken on the plane, we'd have come after you just as hard."

Fitz nodded a bit shyly. "I know. I wish it had been, then Skye wouldn't have had to…" he blushed again.

"Eh," Skye realised she must be coming to terms with it since her first instinct was to crack a joke to ease Fitz's discomfort. "I got to bump uglies with Captain America. I'm not complaining."

The two men stared at her scandalised for a moment, and then when she began to laugh at their expressions, they both joined in helplessly.

Steve, coming down to check on Skye, heard the laughter and stopped, still standing in the lab. He could hear Skye's infectious giggles, well remembered from that night in the gym at Avengers Tower. Slowly, he stepped back, moving quietly back towards the stairs. If he went in there now, the laughter would stop, the smile would disappear from her exotically beautiful face. He couldn't bear that. He'd leave her alone. And perhaps – perhaps one day, he'd get to see her smile at _him_ again.

**Awwww, STEVE. And SAM. And FEELS. So much feels.**


	33. Agent J and Agent K

**Chapter 33.**

_Six weeks later_

Clint muttered swear words under his breath in a continuous stream, in a dozen languages. Why oh _why_ had he agreed to just 'nip over' to France to take out a HYDRA cell operating in Paris? Coulson had claimed he wanted to keep HYDRA off balance, looking over their shoulders, and that was what the Avengers seemed to be mostly doing at the moment, chasing around putting out spot fires.

And, of course, the day Clint left the country was the day shit went down and Jemma's cover was compromised. He was going to kill Coulson for playing a stupid game of chicken with that Raina bitch.

Right now, though, there was nothing he could do but wait. Coulson assured him that his 'internal asset' in HYDRA was getting Jemma out, and he'd sent Trip in the quinjet to collect them. Trip would detour to pick Clint up afterwards – no point going back to London, he and Jemma were both compromised there and HYDRA would be tearing the apartments to pieces within hours. Not that they'd find anything useful. Clint's laptop was in his backpack, and his faithful Boudicca in his hand. He'd already killed four HYDRA agents today, including one traitor who he'd once thought was a friend.

Clint's hand tightened on the bow's grip. He was sitting on a rooftop just waiting for Coulson to call and tell him the extraction had gone well and Jemma was safe. He didn't want to think about the alternative.

Breathing slowly, Clint fingered the selector on his quiver. There were enough incendiary heads in there to blow the HYDRA lab in London sky-high. And that was exactly what he was going to do if anything had happened to Jemma. He was daydreaming about shooting that bastard Bakshi right through the eye when his com crackled to life.

"Pickup one achieved, pickup two, are you ready for me?"

_Trip_. _Thank God_. Clint closed his eyes in relief. He knew Antoine Triplett, had done a good deal of the younger man's training before he was partnered with the traitor Garrett. Clint was glad Trip had turned out to be loyal.

"Two awaiting collection," Clint rattled off a quick code, knowing that when Trip put it into the quinjet's computer, it would translate to his GPS co-ordinates.

"Acknowledged, Two." He could hear the laugh in Trip's voice. "How do you want to play it?"

"Just show me the way to go home, Agent K." Clint selected a grapple arrow and drew it, fitting it to his string, though he didn't draw yet.

"Estimate sixteen minutes to your position. Are you in the clear?"

"All clear." Clint waited patiently. Finally he heard Trip's voice again.

"Coming up on your position, Agent J."

Clint smiled. Trip had called him Agent J on his first day of training. Clint had responded that he was way more badass than Tommy Lee Jones and Trip had asked if he really would get to kick alien ass. At the time, Clint had laughed. It wasn't funny these days, though.

Clint took one more look around. Nothing was going on around him: no movements on the streets or rooftops that were suspicious. He listened for the faint hissing noise of a cloaked quinjet's engines.

"You gonna open me a hatch or what?" Clint quipped.

"Opening now, you impatient bastard," Trip said in response. "These things are a pig to hover…"

"Only for inexperienced pilots." Clint loosed the arrow. "You got someone over there who can connect it to the winch or am I in for an unpleasant joyride?"

"Just for the inexperienced pilot comment, I'm tempted to swing you into the Eiffel Tower," Trip said tartly, but Clint could see someone inside the jet connecting the line to the winch. A moment later the line went taut and he took a firmer grip on Boudicca and stepped off the edge of the roof.

It was never graceful getting into a quinjet this way, particularly since Trip had come out of hover and started flying the plane again, albeit slowly. Clint ended up on his stomach on the floor, clutching his bow, as someone closed the hatch behind him.

"Hello, Clint. Nice to see you again." The boots were too badass to be Jemma. His eyes slid slowly up – up – tall woman – _oh, no._

"Agent Morse." He scrambled to his feet, leaving Boudicca on the floor, and a moment later his arms were full of Jemma as she flung herself at him.

"Clint, you're all right, thank goodness!"

"I was never in danger," he hugged her tight, but he never took his eyes off Bobbi, who was eyeing them both thoughtfully. "Are _you_ all right?"

"I'm fine," she clung to him closely, though, and he realised it must have been a close call.

"I got you," he murmured, stroking her hair, deciding to ignore Bobbi for now. If she didn't know about him and Jemma already, she soon would. "I got you, Jemma, we're on the way home. Everything's gonna be fine."

"When you've finished making kissy-face with your girlfriend back there, Barton," Trip yelled from the cockpit, "Coulson wants to talk to you."

"But of course," Clint sighed, tipping Jemma's chin up for one quick kiss before pressing her into a jump seat and fastening her harness. Her face was tear-stained and he stroked her cheeks tenderly. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised, before going forward to join Trip.

"So you and Agent Barton, hmm?" Bobbi Morse asked as soon as she and Jemma were alone.

"Yes," Jemma still blushed, thinking about it. Felt incredulous that _Hawkeye_, an _Avenger_, would want _her_.

"Been together long?" Bobbi already knew the answer, from the young scientist's pink cheeks.

"A few weeks," Jemma responded.

"Watch out for him. He's a heartbreaker." Bobbi stooped to where Boudicca still lay on the floor, and with the ease of long practice, disconnected the grapple arrow cable, picked up the bow and racked it.

Jemma didn't know what to think. Was this stunning, totally badass woman a former lover of Clint's? Suddenly Jemma felt plain and small. And very, very jealous. Clint didn't even look annoyed when he came back from the cockpit and saw that Bobbi had touched his bow. Jemma wouldn't have dared – not that she'd ever even thought to try – but he only nodded at Bobbi with a murmured thanks.

"So you were implanted at HYDRA?" he asked, sitting down beside Jemma, facing Bobbi.

"Head of Security," she replied with a smirk.

"Wouldn't have taken long to work your way up, with your expertise," Clint said. To Jemma's ears, it sounded like a fawning compliment.

"It didn't. How've you been, Clint?" Bobbi smiled at him, wide and genuine, her blue eyes shining. "I haven't seen you since before New York. You're an Avenger now; no one deserves it more."

_Bleugh, it's getting all sickly in here_, Jemma thought, but Clint only shrugged.

"You know how it is. Same shit, different day."

Bobbi laughed, low and sultry, and Jemma wanted to scratch her eyes out. She settled for biting on her own fingernails. _God. This was going to be a really long flight_.

Jemma was quiet, sitting next to Clint, but then she often was when she was thinking. She was worrying a fingernail between her teeth, another sure sign that she had something on her mind, and she usually didn't like to be interrupted during those times, so Clint talked quietly to Bobbi, catching up on what she'd been up to. He hadn't seen her since right after her divorce. He winced inwardly, thinking about their last meeting. He'd come back from a mission and gone to his quarters in the Hub, tired and aching, wanting nothing more than a long hot shower and a week's sleep.

_Bobbi Morse was naked in his bed. She was quite a sight, especially for a man who'd just spent a month in a swamp in Cambodia, so it had taken a couple of minutes to get his brain into gear._

"_What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, finally remembering to close the door. Shit, he hoped no one had glanced in and seen her._

"_My divorce is finalised. Lance has taken a job guarding some film star from a stalker," Bobbi shrugged – and he looked, he was only human. "There's nothing to stop us being together now, Clint."_

"_Except for the fact that I'm not interested?" he asked sarcastically._

"_You enjoyed fucking me, don't tell me you didn't. I might not remember it all but there were three tied-off condoms in the trash." Bobbi spread her legs, showing him what was on offer. "Don't you want a repeat performance?"_

_And Clint was suddenly repulsed. "No." He fixed his eyes on hers, no longer distracted by her body. "I don't, Bobbi. It was just physical. That's all. You needed it; I helped out a friend. You and I would never work. Lance put up with your games because he loved you. I don't, and I wouldn't. So get your clothes on and get out."_

_She'd argued and even cried, but he was unmoved. And then she'd taken her sweet time getting her clothes on, and he found out later she'd let practically half of S.H.I.E.L.D. see her leaving his room, deliberately walking bow-legged and smiling smugly. Word had got back to Lance, of course, and Hunter hadn't spoken to Clint since._

Bobbi was looking at him with the exact same expression she'd been wearing that night when she tried to tempt him to bed her again. It reminded him of a cat eyeing a particularly juicy mouse. Clint ignored it and took Jemma's hand in his, tracing his fingers gently over her palm. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually Jemma leaned her head against his shoulder.

Arriving back at the Playground, Clint was a little surprised when first thing after landing, Jemma threw her arms around Trip and gave him a massive hug, before dashing off to find Fitz and Skye. He shared a rough shoulder-clasp with Trip himself, now the other man was free of the pilot's seat, before collecting his bow. Bobbi had already stalked off to find Coulson and make her report. Clint and Trip followed a little more slowly, Trip filling Clint in on a few of the events of the previous few weeks.

"Izzy Hartley? Oh, no," Clint said, distressed. "And Idaho – he was a good guy. Smart as they come."

They entered a large working area just in time to see Lance Hunter confront Bobbi. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Fuck," Clint said under his breath, checking around the room. No Jemma, thank heavens, she must be with Skye. Alphonse Mackenzie was sitting at the table: Clint knew him slightly. A good mechanic and a decent guy.

Bobbi stormed out after a few words with Lance, and the room fell silent for a moment in her wake.

"Hawkeye," Hunter said coldly, turning to him. "Well. The storm blows in and you follow. What a surprise to see you with Bobbi." His tone was flat and coldly sarcastic.

"I'm not _with_ Bobbi," Clint said, but Hunter had already left.

"What the hell?" Trip said.

May, arms folded, grinned. "You know the demonic ex-wife Hunter's always bitching about? That's her."

To Clint's annoyance, both Trip and Mack gave him censuring looks. "Don't look at me!" he held his hands up defensively. "Despite what anyone may imply, I have nothing to do with their little domestic drama!"

"Good," Trip said, "because Jemma deserves better than to get mixed up in some unhealthy triangle with you and any woman who can fuck a decent guy like Hunter's head over that bad."

"There's no triangle. There's only me and Jemma," Clint said firmly, sharing a look with May, who smirked back at him. He'd got drunk with her and Natasha one night and poured out the whole sorry truth. Sometimes, he thought May, Natasha and Coulson were the only ones in the whole of S.H.I.E.L.D. who believed him when he said he'd only ever touched Bobbi during the sex pollen episode.

"Come on, Barton," May tipped her head towards the door. "You can debrief me, and then you'd better head back to the Tower. Natasha has been calling, says there's something she needs your help with ASAP."

Clint sighed and followed her out. At least she didn't care if he debriefed slumped in a chair with his feet on a desk. He peppered her with questions as well about what had been going on in his absence: she was hiding something but right now he was too tired to take the time to figure out what. He'd ask Natasha, see if she knew. Thinking of that…

"Did Coulson ever let Steve and Tasha interrogate Ward?" he asked.

"It hasn't happened yet," May shrugged. "They've not been around. Too busy." She glanced down at her hands and Clint knew she was missing Natasha. They spent months apart often, because of their work, but he knew how deeply they loved each other.

"I'll see what I can do to relieve the pressure and get Tasha down here," he offered gently. "Has Skye seen Steve since the Malta incident?"

May shook her head. "No. She's talked it through with me and I'm confident she's over the worst. She doesn't blame herself, and her anger is correctly targeted at Rumlow and HYDRA. But if I mention Steve's name, she clams up."

"We'd better not let that fester too long," Clint said. "Maybe sending Steve and Tasha down to interrogate Ward is the way to go. Rumlow pulled a complete disappearing trick off Malta, despite Thor bringing that whole damn compound down, which worries me. I want to know where and how he vanished, and I wonder if Ward has any ideas."

"I'll talk to Coulson about it," May said in a clear dismissal of the subject. "And on the subject of girlfriends and sex, how's Jemma?"

Clint grinned at her. "Very good, thanks. And I'll thank you not to be sending her off again any time soon. I'd like Jemma where I can get at her, please."

May smiled, standing up. "I'll see what I can do. Keep in touch, Clint. I know the Avengers have their own agenda outside S.H.I.E.L.D. – even Natasha and I don't share everything – but it is important that we know what each other's end goals are."

"Yeah," Clint said dryly. "You wanna tell Coulson that, Cav?"

May's smile was tight. "I'll pass on your comment."

"You do that." Clint nodded at her and stood. He had some information he wasn't leaving until he'd shared with Jemma.

He tracked her down with Skye, the two of them sitting with their heads together. He leaned against the doorframe of Skye's office, smiling at them both. His sharp eyes didn't miss the _Trust Cap_ sign on Skye's desk, either.

"Sorry, Skye, but can I steal Jemma for two minutes? I have to head straight back to New York and I want to say goodbye…"

"You didn't say hello yet," Skye came over and reached up to kiss his cheek. A little surprised, he still enfolded her in a warm hug.

"How're you doing, sweetheart?"

"I'm good. Busy," she waved a hand at her cluttered desk. "You know how it is."

"Only too well," he smiled at her, and then she slipped out the door.

"I'll leave you two alone," a sweet smile, and she closed the door behind her.

Jemma eyed Clint a little warily, and he sighed internally. _And already it starts_. The last thing he wanted was to leave her here to witness the fighting that would no doubt start up immediately between Bobbi and Hunter. What was Coulson _thinking _having those two in the same place?

"I have to leave, Jemma," he approached slowly, and she didn't resist when he drew her into his arms. "I'm sorry, but I'm called to New York immediately. You'll be stationed here for the immediate future, I believe."

Jemma's heart felt as though it was breaking. They were going from, for all intents and purposes, living together, to not being sure when they would next see each other. "Is this goodbye, then?" she gulped. "It was fun while it lasted?"

Clint's grip tightened on her. "Not unless _you_ want it to be," he said sharply. "I was planning to ask Coulson if you can do some of your work at the Tower too so I can see you more often, plus I intend to get down here as frequently as I can, but if you'd rather I didn't…"

"No!" Jemma sobbed, unable to stop the tears breaking free, "no, please…"

He kissed her, long, slow and tender. "I'm fucking crazy about you, angel," he said softly, stroking her recently-cut hair back from her face, his fingers tangling in the natural waves. "And I'm not letting you go."

Another kiss, and Clint sighed, knowing he couldn't stay, and he had to address the topic before he left. He appropriated Skye's office chair, pulling Jemma down into his lap. "Before I go, I need to tell you something, and I need you to think back and remember what you told me when we first talked about it."

Jemma's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about, Clint?"

"You remember when you asked me about the person I helped through a sex pollen episode?" When she nodded, he said "It was Bobbi Morse. And her ex-husband, Lance Hunter, is working here too."

"Oh," Jemma's eyes widened, unsure what to make of that. "I thought – maybe you and Bobbi had once been involved. The way she spoke to you, I mean."

"I never touched her apart from that one time. Hunter doesn't believe that, though. He believes we had an affair after they divorced. Or maybe even before they divorced."

"But you didn't?" her brown eyes met his, then skittered away nervously.

"No. I didn't. Not that she didn't offer, but I wasn't interested. She's not my type." He squeezed her waist gently, nuzzled at her throat.

Jemma couldn't help but scoff. "Oh come on, she's stunning: she's every man's type!"

Clint shook his head. "By then I was already hung up on you," he admitted, "and even if I hadn't been, Bobbi and I wouldn't have worked. She's devious and I'm a straight shooter. I don't know how Lance managed her for so long, but then he worshipped the ground she walked on and I'm not one to judge a man for who he falls in love with."

Jemma leaned against him, thinking. "She told me to be careful. That you were a heartbreaker."

"_She's_ the one who broke Lance's heart," Clint snorted. "That said, I don't know _all_ the details of their breakup. He got jealous – which I do understand, even though the whole reason I did it was because I thought he'd want someone who was a friend to take care of his wife, rather than a random stranger, because believe me those were the other options."

Jemma nodded, understanding his reasoning perfectly. "I can still see that he might have been jealous. But surely it was up to her to reassure him?"

"Yeah, Bobbi was never good at that. They had a massive public fight one day – which is the reason I know about this – and she told him I was better in bed. Not that she would know because she didn't remember much, that's part of the effects of the sex pollen drug, and she certainly didn't have any other opportunities to compare."

"That was _not_ very nice of her," Jemma said indignantly.

"Bobbi's not always a very nice person," Clint said. "Hunter was the one I was close with, not his wife. Watch yourself around her, Jemma. She's devious and clever and good at using people, and I think she might still bear a grudge towards me for turning her down. Just remember I don't want anyone else but _you_."

**Although I do like Bobbi Morse's character on AoS, for the purposes of this story I've made her out to be not a very nice person. Can't have Hawkeye involved with Mockingbird here!**


	34. Return To The Tower

**Chapter 34.**

Reassured by Clint's words – and the kisses he'd bestowed before he had to leave – Jemma faced the team with a little more confidence in herself, her head held high. After all, she'd been doing just fine in her mission, it wasn't _her_ fault she'd been compromised. Coulson had effectively made the decision to pull her out, and really, she wasn't arguing.

_Although it would have been nice not to have to run for her life and jump off a building onto a jet she couldn't see, but, you know. Semantics._

Lance Hunter, Clint's former friend, turned out to be an extremely attractive man. Tallish – about Clint's height – lean and hard as a whip, he had the kind of dry, sardonic English wit that always made Jemma feel homesick. He was sniping at Bobbi when Jemma walked into the kitchen the following morning, and Bobbi was rolling her eyes and scowling at him.

Hunter looked up at Jemma's entry. Brown eyes surveyed her swiftly, and she had the unnerving feeling that he'd mapped and assessed her all in that one glance. His mouth twisted slightly.

"The famous Agent Simmons, I presume," he said dryly.

"Please call me Jemma," deliberately she pasted on a wide smile and walked forward, her hand outstretched. He gave her a second look, and then grudgingly got to his feet and shook her hand.

"Jemma. I'm Lance Hunter. Just call me Hunter, everyone does."

"Very nice to meet you, Hunter," she said, keeping the charm switched on. Remembering what Coulson had told her about making friends and influencing people. Hunter on her side could only be a good thing, since she suspected Bobbi most definitely wasn't.

The other woman had resumed eating – _ugh_, how could she eat that much and keep that figure? There was a huge plate of eggs and bacon in front of her. _Oh, right. All that ass-kicking_. Jemma sighed and went to get her fruit and yogurt. Without Clint here to nag her, she'd have to make herself get back on the treadmill. She could run six miles now at a good pace and was proud of the fact. Maybe she could get Skye to help encourage her.

The sniping had stopped now Jemma was in the room. She glanced from Hunter to Bobbi a bit nervously, and then took a seat at the end of the table. Hunter appeared to have finished eating and was just mainlining black coffee now. He watched her with a focussed intensity that reminded Jemma of Clint when he was thinking about something. It was unnerving when another man did it.

"What?" she decided to call him on his rudeness eventually. "Do I have something on my face?"

He smiled, a watchful, dangerous little smile. "A pair of pretty eyes."

Bobbi put down her knife and fork.

Jemma hesitated. "Thanks for the compliment. Don't look too close. My boyfriend wouldn't like it."

Hunter pounced. "You and Barton, hmm? Wouldn't get too confident there. He's not good at respecting relationship boundaries."

Jemma's spoon clinked against the bowl, and she put it down to try and hide the fact that her hands were shaking. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Hunter. There's _at least_ two sides to every story." She tried very hard to ignore the fact that if Bobbi's eyes could shoot laser beams, she'd be a smoking pile of ash.

Hunter's eyebrows shot up. "I'm surprised he actually told you _his_ side." He looked at Bobbi, who immediately looked back at her food and tried to seem as though she was totally disinterested in the conversation, but Jemma could see Hunter's mind start ticking over. "Interesting," he said slowly, looked back at Jemma, and cocked his head. A small smile appeared. "_Very_ interesting."

_Oh, God. How did she get involved in this mess?_ Abandoning the remains of her breakfast, Jemma fled.

"You scared her off, Hunter," she heard Bobbi's voice as she walked out. "Don't spook the children."

"She's no child," Hunter responded. "Very much a woman. I quite see the attraction. Clint always was a lucky bastard."

Beet red, Jemma hurried away. Work. She needed to bury herself in work. Surely there was plenty to do.

She found Fitz in the labs, tinkering with something. He glanced up when she came in, nodded and smiled. Jemma headed over to the workstations she'd had so little time to use and hesitated. Where to start?

Skye came in just then, balancing a bowl of cereal in her hands. "The Cold War's going on in the kitchen," she announced, "steer clear." She hitched herself up to sit on a table and started eating.

"Huh?" Fitz blinked at her.

"Hunter and his ex-wife from hell. She's gotta be a bitch. No one but a bitch could be that gorgeous." Skye took a mouthful of cereal, munched it with a considering look, and swallowed. "Except Natasha Romanoff," she conceded.

"Beautiful woman in the kitchen?" Fitz put down his screwdriver. "I need – a cup of tea. Be back in a bit!"

Skye and Jemma exchanged grins as the door closed behind him. "Same old Fitz," Jemma sighed. "He didn't get anywhere with Darcy?"

Skye grimaced. "He hasn't seen her. We've been so busy, Jemma, we haven't been up to the Tower since you left, and Darcy isn't S.H.I.E.L.D. so she's got no reason to come here. You know Coulson wants as few people as possible knowing about the Playground. It's the only safe place we have left."

Jemma fiddled with a few things on her bench, rearranging them unnecessarily. "You haven't seen Steve since…?"

Skye looked down, her hair dropping forward to hide her face. "Why would he want to see me?"

"That's not what I asked," Jemma walked over to her, smoothing Skye's hair back. "Don't hide from me, sweetie. I know you liked him. You'd never have consented to him touching you otherwise."

Skye's face was red. She put her barely-touched bowl down on the table. "It doesn't matter now. He thinks I'm a slut."

"He does _not_!" Jemma cried, shocked. "Skye, _no_!" She was horrified when Skye suddenly burst into tears, and immediately pulled her friend in for a hug. "Oh, Skye, how long have you been feeling like this?"

"I thought he'd come to see me," Skye sobbed. "I thought he liked me, just a little bit. But obviously he thinks I'm a slut and he doesn't even want to be _friends_ with me…"

Jemma's lips tightened and she thought several uncharitable things about Steve Rogers. _Of course Skye wasn't going to make the first move to make contact again; how stupid could men be?_

Later on, when Skye had been mopped up, convinced to eat her breakfast and redirected into focussing on work, Jemma sent Clint an email.

'_Steve Rogers is an idiot. He hasn't even come to see Skye. She thinks he despises her.'_

It took a couple of hours for the response to come back. _'She'd be very wrong about that. He's slinking round here like a kicked puppy. Tasha says he's hating on himself for enjoying it. I reckon he can't stop thinking about her.'_

Jemma smirked, reading that. '_So what are we going to do about it?'_ she sent back.

'_Leave it to me. Gotta go quiet for a few days, babe, sorry, see you soon.'_

She worried about him, of course, but there was absolutely nothing she could do, so she threw herself into work with her usual enthusiasm and tried not to think about it too much.

About a week later, Coulson popped his head round the lab door, looking fondly exasperated. "Fitz, Jemma. My office, please."

They discovered Skye and May already there. Jemma exchanged a confused glance with Skye as Coulson sat down. "It's come to my attention," Phil said, "that you have all been working incredibly hard without a break for months. Starting now, unless we're on a mission, I'll be rotating groups of you out so you get every other weekend off. Hunter, Morse, Mack and Trip can mind the place with me for a few days. The four of you are free to go wherever you like."

"_Wherever_ we like, sir?" May asked disbelievingly.

"Within an hour's flight on the quinjet," Phil qualified. "And as long as you stay together so I can call you back as a group if required."

"Thank you, sir, I believe we'll head for New York," May said instantly.

"It's Friday afternoon, I don't want to see you all until Monday morning. Now scram." Phil's lips twitched in an almost-smile. His eyes met Jemma's, and he inclined his head very slightly.

"Uh, sir," Skye lingered, "I've got some things I'd like to work on – perhaps I could swap with Trip?"

"I need to keep one pilot here in case I have to take the Bus out, Skye," Phil looked at his computer in a clear dismissal. "And I have jobs for the others at the moment. I'm sure you can find wi-fi where you're going. Take your laptop."

"Skye," May grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the office. "You're coming. The Tower's a big place, you can avoid anyone you don't want to see. Now pack your stuff."

"We're going to the Tower? Excellent," Fitz brightened.

Jemma and May exchanged exasperated looks. "Where did you think we were going in New York, Fitz, when we have to stay together and both May's girlfriend and my boyfriend live there? Come on," Jemma tugged Fitz after her, not that he was resisting.

Half an hour later they were in the quinjet, and it was well under an hour to New York and May gently settling the plane down on the Tower's helipad, invisibility mode still engaged. But obviously May at least had called ahead – Jemma couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it – because there was a welcoming committee consisting of Natasha, Clint, and Sam Wilson, who grinned widely to see all of them step out of the jet.

Jemma actually beat May in a sprint across the roof to throw herself at Clint, but May was only half a step behind her and even more demonstrative. It was quite some time before she and Natasha came up for air.

"Oh, get a room," Fitz said, walking past with a grin, shoving Jemma's bag at Clint. "Not that she'll need anything in it, from the look on your face," he snarked at Clint.

"Who's that and what did he do with Fitz?" Clint said in surprise, watching as the engineer disappeared inside the Tower.

"I think he's been spending too much time with your buddy Hunter," Jemma said, laughing at Clint's expression.

"Actually that explains quite a lot. Hello, Skye, good to see you," he bent to kiss Skye's cheek as she came up to him. She'd greeted Sam with a hug and a wide smile, and Sam was carrying her bag for her now. The Falcon winked at Clint over Skye's head and Clint grinned. Sam had very strict instructions for what to do with Skye next.

"Hi Clint. Jemma packed a pretty dress, take her out to dinner and give her a chance to wear it," Skye instructed.

"Why does everyone seem to think that I'm planning to keep you naked in my bed all weekend?" Clint asked, tucking his arm around Jemma's waist and shouldering her bag.

"Hmm – because they've met you?" Jemma giggled as he gave her a dangerous look.

"And _you're_ developing a smart mouth too!"

"Too much hanging around with you, I think…" Jemma's retort was cut off short as he crowded her up against the wall of the elevator and kissed her.

"Got better things for you to do with that mouth than cheek me with it," Clint muttered against her throat. Jemma let out a moan, unable to help from grinding herself against the hardness of his thigh as he rammed it between her legs.

"Oh God, yes please," she gasped as Clint's hands came up to her breasts.

**Ahoy, mateys! There be some BioHawk smut ahead…**


	35. I See You

**Chapter 35.**

There was a discreet ping and JARVIS said politely, "The elevator is at your floor, Mr Barton."

"Oh," Clint lifted his head and grinned. "Thanks, J."

"At your service as always," JARVIS responded, and Clint grinned at the faint hint of sarcasm, stooping to pick up Jemma's bag and leading her towards his bedroom.

"You hungry?" he thought to ask Jemma.

"Yes," she said, and then laughed at the faint disappointment he tried quickly to hide. "But not for food, yet." He looked far too delicious for that, dressed in a pale grey long-sleeved T-shirt and his ubiquitous black cargo pants. The shirt was tight enough to define his chest and shoulder muscles beautifully, and the pale grey colour lightened his eyes to almost sky-blue.

"Oh, good." His wicked smile reappeared. "In that case, Doctor Simmons, come here." He pulled her into his arms, bending his head to capture her lips again. Jemma reached up eagerly. Clint kissed unbelievably well, his lips warm and soft, his tongue not intrusive but playing a gentle, teasing game with hers that always ended with her pressing herself against him, frantic for more. She scrabbled to pull off his T-shirt and he broke the kiss to let her, pulling off the thin sweater she was wearing immediately afterwards and then stopping to stare.

"Like it?" Jemma spread her arms a little shyly.

"Wow," was all Clint said as he admired with his eyes the stunning bra she was wearing. A deep royal blue, it contrasted beautifully with her milky skin, silk and lace emphasizing every delicate curve.

"Most of my stuff got left behind in London so I had to go shopping…"

"You look fucking fantastic," he muttered gruffly, lifting his finger to trace delicately over the swell of her breast above the lace. "Like everything I've been dreaming of for the past few days."

Jemma didn't ask. The shadows in his eyes told her that whatever had been happening, it hadn't been easy. Instead she reached up to wind her arms around his neck. "I'm not a dream," she said softly, "I'm real, right here and now, and I want you to take me to bed and screw me until I'm screaming your name."

Clint grinned, put a hand behind her knees and scooped her off her feet easily. "I absolutely adore," he said, carrying her to bed, "the fact that you dress so conservatively, act so demure and sweet – and it's only me who knows that underneath, you like silk and lace against your skin."

"And you," Jemma said, working at his belt as he knelt over her on the bed. "I like _you_ against my skin."

"Yeah? How do you like me best?" he asked, and she looked up at him, knowing he was asking her what she wanted him to do.

"Hard," she said softly. A week without him, and the mere sight of him shirtless had her frantic, desperate to feel him inside her again. "A little bit rough, maybe…"

Clint smiled hungrily. "Oh, that sounds real good to me, sweetheart." His hands caught hers and lifted them over her head. "Hold onto the headboard."

Jemma obeyed as Clint removed the rest of her clothes, pausing to teasingly run his fingers around her areolae, not quite touching her nipples. He looked a little regretful as he stripped the pretty bra and panties from her. "Will you wear these again for me later? _Just_ these?"

"I bought other sets too," Jemma grinned cheekily at him. "I'll model them for you."

"You might have to tie me to the bed or some of them might get damaged."

Her pupils blew wide with lust as she thought about having Clint tied down and at her mercy. He didn't miss the change in her breathing and grinned to himself. Well, that could wait for later. Frankly, he was too damn desperate to be inside her, to sheathe his aching cock in her wet heat, hear her sweet cries as they both took their pleasure. He lost focus, sitting back on his heels and sliding his fingers into her slick folds, yanking the remainder of his own clothes off with his free hand.

"You're dripping for me, you dirty girl," he murmured. "Been thinking about me?"

"Always," Jemma gasped as he pinched her clit suddenly. Her hips jerked upwards sharply. "Aaaah!" He pinched again lightly, eyes glittering.

"Something you _want_, love?"

"Please," she begged shamelessly, knowing how much Clint loved it when she did. "I _want_ you. I _need_ to feel you inside me. Please, please – put that beautiful thick cock in me and fuck me _hard_." The words sounded utterly filthy in her precise English accent, even though her voice was softer and breathier than usual.

He let out a hungry growl, and then, unable to wait any longer, eased over her, supporting herself on his arms, pausing for a taste of her nipples before he guided the head of his almost-painful arousal against her. Jemma wrapped her legs around him, digging her heels into his ass, trying to pull him in harder.

"Easy," Clint muttered, "not too fast, love, don't want to hurt you… nnngghhh," he let out an incoherent sound as Jemma clenched her thigh muscles hard and jerked herself up along his length. "Oh, _Christ_." She was so _tight_, a slick hot clamp along the whole length of his cock as he bottomed out inside her. "Jemma_aaahh!_"

"Clint, _now_, harder," she demanded, letting go of the headboard and clutching at him demandingly, digging her nails into his biceps.

"Gonna come too fast, hold on," he could already feel it starting, feel his balls pulling up to his body. "Need to wait for you…"

"No!" she shouted at him, and he suddenly realised that she felt so tight because her vaginal muscles were starting to clench. She was already right on the verge of climax herself, even though he'd barely warmed her up.

"Fuck," he muttered hoarsely, "what did you do, grind yourself against the seat all the way here?"

"No," Jemma moaned, "didn't need to – just thinking about you – oh, yes, Clint, please, like that, ohhhh..."

He slammed hard against her, using the powerful muscles of his back and thighs to power his thrusts, making it as fast and rough as she wanted. Her cries increased in pitch and tempo as he moved, creating an erotic counterpoint to their lovemaking. Heat prickled down his spine and he sped up again, feeling Jemma start to come apart around him, her walls suddenly spasming on his cock, milking him hard until he came with a roar, his back bowing as he shot his load deep into her receptive body.

Clint collapsed down onto Jemma, kissing her long and slow, enjoying just making out with her. She wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back, sighing into his mouth as he caressed her hair and cheek with one hand. For long moments they clung together, still joined, and then Clint sighed and eased back as he felt himself start to soften and slip from Jemma.

"Barely a week and I was going insane without you," he said quietly, lying down beside her and stroking her stomach gently as she sighed and went limp. "You're right in here, beautiful girl," he tapped his fingers on his chest. "Feel like I can't breathe without you close."

Jemma stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, and then her lips curved up in a shy smile. "I love you too," she said softly.

Clint blinked. "That's what I was saying, wasn't it?" he said to himself, almost wonderingly. "Yes, I love you, Jemma Simmons. I love you so fucking much I don't even know how to start saying it."

Jemma smiled, burying her face in his chest, hugging him close. "Oh, I don't know. I think you're doing a pretty good job."

He curved a hand around the back of her neck, threading his fingers into the softness of her hair, holding her close. "Please don't leave me."

"_Leave_ you!" startled, she jerked back, staring at him. "Why would you think I'd leave you?"

He looked away, and she saw for the first time just how insecure and vulnerable he felt where she was concerned. "I'm just a sniper. What S.H.I.E.L.D. always euphemistically called a _wetworks specialist_, when they really meant _assassin_. You – you're brilliant, beautiful, young. You could have any man you wanted."

"Shut. Up." Jemma poked him hard in the chest. "I am not going to listen to you putting the man I love down like that!"

Clint blinked. She leaned in closer, staring him hard in the eyes.

"You," Jemma said passionately, "are a _hero_. An _Avenger_, one of Earth's _mightiest_ heroes, and you're a _man_ with a _bow_. Not serum-enhanced, not a demigod, not equipped with wings or a flying armoured tank. The other Avengers accept you as an _equal_. Have you no _idea_ how special that makes you? I'm just a scientist. Yes, I'm brilliant, I know that and I'm not going to be falsely immodest about it, but if I vanished tomorrow, I could be replaced, easy enough. You – _Hawkeye_ – couldn't. The world _needs_ you, needs to see that one man can rise above terrible beginnings and become, through blood and sweat and sheer _guts_, something so special…" she choked up, and he pulled her close, kissing her tenderly, deeply moved by her impassioned defence of him.

"Shh," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Shh. I love you. I love you so much it hurts and I'm just so scared that you're gonna see right through this tough-guy façade and find the scared kid who's just faking it to get by."

"Don't you know we all feel like that sometimes?" Jemma laughed through her tears, pressing kisses against the hard line of his jaw. "I see you, Clint. I see who you _really_ are, the man who won't let injustice pass by. Who picks up his bow and goes out, again and again, to fight for what he believes in. The man I'm in love with."

"The selfish bastard who's gonna keep you," he said a bit roughly. "I'd never keep you from your work, it's your calling as much as being Hawkeye is mine, but so help me God, if another man so much as looks at you too long…"

Jemma decided she was _definitely_ not going to tell him how flirty Lance Hunter had been with her all this week. She suspected Hunter was just doing it to make Bobbi jealous anyway. "I don't care about other men," deliberately, she rotated her hips against his groin, feeling him begin to harden again almost immediately. "There's only one man I want, and he's right here, and about to make love to me again with all of his _very_ considerable skill."

Clint smiled, cupping her ass in his hands and pulling her more firmly against him, grinding his rising cock against her stomach lightly. "Yes, ma'am."

**Wow, that went from smut to angst fast, didn't it? Poor Clint. He's still pretty broken and insecure. But Jemma sees him for who he really is and loves him anyway. Smart girl.**

**Right, well, we can leave these two happily going at it like bunnies and head off to find out what Skye has been up to, hmm? Find out whether Steve's managed to stick one of those massive feet in his mouth again…**


	36. Hello, Skye

**Chapter 36.**

Skye followed Sam into the Tower and into the elevator, eyeing him a little uncertainly. "Where are we going?"

"Wherever you like," Sam glanced down at her with an affectionate smile. "I was just gonna drop your bag off in your room." Tony had prepared a whole floor for Coulson's team, and they each had a comfortable room permanently assigned to them, opening onto a well-appointed common room.

"I can carry it perfectly well," Skye pointed out.

"I wouldn't be any sort of gentleman if I let you do that, now would I?"

"I think you've been hanging around with the men from the forties too much," Skye chuckled. She took a deep breath. "Speaking of whom, how _is_ Barnes?"

Sam eyed her, guessing that wasn't the man she really wanted to ask about. He answered anyway. "He's doing really well. Natasha has lots of experience with dealing with HYDRA brainwashing. It's been discussed putting him in the regressive memory machine thing you guys have…"

Skye shuddered. "Bad idea. Trust me. _Really_ bad idea."

"I was going to say that it doesn't seem to be necessary. I won't say Natasha's methods have been easy on him, but they've been very effective. The only problem is that we're not sure if the gaps still remaining in his memory correspond exactly to the time he spent in cryofreeze."

Skye gnawed on her lower lip thoughtfully. "There must have been records kept somewhere of when he was frozen. You've checked his records against the recorded mission dates we found?"

They were deep in conversation about that, right through dropping Skye's bag in her room and Sam leading her back out again. The elevator doors were opening on the gym level when Skye suddenly became aware of her surroundings. "Uh, what are we doing here?"

"I thought you'd like to see the man you've been asking about," Sam said simply.

"Oh." Skye had never seen the Winter Soldier in the flesh. She'd seen the Smithsonian exhibit and the pictures of a young, handsome Bucky Barnes, and blurry shots of the Russian assassin in action, but – this man was neither.

His still-long black hair was pulled back into a simple tail at the back of his neck, which only emphasized the clean-cut beauty of his face. Pale and drawn, icy blue eyes intensely focussed as he attacked, even in baggy gym clothes he drew the eye. The fact that he was doing his best to beat the shit out of Iron Man – and doing a decent job of it – seemed almost secondary.

Barnes was aware of Sam and Skye as soon as they entered the room. "Who's the dame?" he grunted as Tony parried another strike, just in time.

"That's her, that's Skye, the chick Steve's all messed up over," Tony panted. Even enhanced by JARVIS, his reaction times were just too slow to keep up with Barnes. He was losing this fight without the ability to fly more than two feet off the ground, which they'd agreed was a limitation for this bout. Enforced by JARVIS, so Tony couldn't even cheat.

"Really?" Barnes backed off, which was all the invitation Tony needed to retreat too. They both bowed slightly to each other, signalling the end of the bout, and then Barnes turned.

"Hey, flyboy."

"James," Sam said cheerfully, "I'd like you to meet Skye."

Barnes wiped his sweaty human hand on his gym pants and offered it. Skye took it and was startled when he lifted it to his lips to brush a light kiss against her fingertips. "Delighted to meet you, ma'am." He gave her a distinctly roguish grin.

"Oh," she flushed slightly at the unexpectedly charming action. "Uh, me too."

"Hey Skye, nice to see you," Tony clomped past her in the suit. "Barnes, I'm fucked, and not in a good way. That said, I'm still not happy with the way your arm is functioning. Let's get down to the workshop. You too, flyboy, I wanna play with your wings some more."

James, still holding Skye's hand in his, gave her a regretful smile. "See you later, I hope, doll."

Skye's blush deepened. He was a _blatant_ flirt. She hadn't expected that, despite the tales about that being part of his character back in the day. And how he'd been portrayed on that TV series she'd been so fond of as a girl. She'd thought the actor cast as Barnes had probably been more handsome than the real deal, but she was wrong. They'd got the casting about right. Except for those _eyes_…

_Of course, the actor who played Steve fell short in every sense of the word_, Skye's traitorous brain pointed out. _No, no, I am NOT going to think about Steve_… she was following the others towards the elevator when two words froze her in her tracks.

"Hello, Skye."

_His_ voice. It triggered a sudden cascade of memory snippets for Skye; that deep, gentle voice murmuring softly to her as she thrashed beneath strong hands. She stood shaking, staring at the closing elevator doors, and the last thing she saw was the conniving grins of Stark, Barnes and Wilson.

_Those bastards planned this._

Steve had wondered if he should avoid her. But Clint got right in his face and told him he was being an ass, that Skye felt bad enough over what had happened to her without having to wonder if he was disgusted by her. Avoiding her to salve his own feelings was the coward's way out, and Steven Grant Rogers had never been a coward. So when Sam had suggested letting her confront him in the gym, where she could put boxing gloves on and beat on him to her heart's content if that's what she wanted, Steve had eventually conceded. At least the meeting would be private. Tony had promised to order JARVIS to put the gym on lockdown until Steve requested otherwise. Skye couldn't escape hearing him out.

She turned slowly to face him, and Steve sucked in a shaky breath, because dear Lord, she was even lovelier than he remembered. Wearing a short denim skirt and knee-length boots, a pretty blouse and a lacy scarf around her neck, she looked fashionable, young, the epitome of a modern girl. And oh, _so_ beautiful. His mouth went dry. He couldn't get out the words he'd rehearsed, about how good it was to see her again.

He looked gorgeous, Skye thought. Dressed in a tight white T-shirt and blue jeans – oh, God, whoever coaxed him into those Levis deserved a medal for services to womankind – his hair was damp. He'd obviously just showered. He looked like the perfect model for truth, justice, and the American Dream.

Skye, faced with all that perfection, reverted to her default defence mechanism and lost her temper. "What gives you the right to fucking judge me, Rogers?" she shouted. "Just because you're all morally upright and perfectly self-controlled doesn't mean the rest of us are scum because we don't _want_ to follow your example all the time! For the record, I'd have really fucking enjoyed what you did to me even if I _wasn't_ under the influence of that stupid drug, and I'm not going to let you make me feel bad about it!"

Steve's mouth fell open, and the pretty little speech he'd planned flew right out of his head as Skye stalked towards him. She stopped right in front of him, having to tip her head back to glare up at him since she was nearly a foot shorter than he was, and carried on laying into him with the rough side of her tongue.

"You're a bloody hypocrite! I've heard you talk about human rights and free choice, but apparently when it comes to women you're still stuck in the Dark Ages, any of us who don't save it until marriage are just whores in _your_ eyes…" she jabbed a finger into his chest, still filled with self-righteous rage, and he grabbed her hand, then the other one when she brought it up to push at him.

"No," he said sharply. "Don't you dare call yourself that."

"Why not? It's what _you_ think of me!" Skye's eyes filled with tears. "I thought we were _friends_," she choked out. "You promised it wouldn't change anything. If I'd known you'd avoid me like this, that you'd hate me, I wouldn't have _asked_ you!"

Steve Rogers wasn't a good liar. And he couldn't, _could not_, allow Skye to go on thinking that he thought she was a – he couldn't even bear to think the _word_. So he told her the truth. "I haven't been avoiding you because I don't want us to be friends, or because I think you're not a good person. I've stayed away because – because I couldn't face you without thinking about touching you."

"Oh," Skye's tears dried as she thought about that. "Oh, Steve – I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I never wanted that." She frowned. "But – why didn't you say _no_? I'd have chosen Sam…"

The pure rage that filled Steve at the thought of any other man touching her almost sent him to his knees. It had nearly unmanned him just watching Bucky flirt with her, but Buck had insisted that he wanted to see Skye in person before he left Steve alone with her, and Steve had reluctantly agreed to let Sam introduce them. Bucky's grin at Steve as he got into the elevator told him that his best friend certainly approved of his taste.

"I'd have beaten Sam to a pulp before I let him lay a finger on you," Steve confessed finally. Skye's anger seemed to have finally run out of steam and she just stood there, tears trickling silently down her cheeks, though she seemed to be trying very hard to blink them away.

"What? Why?" Skye blinked uncertainly, trying to pull her hands out of his grasp to rub at her eyes. It was impossible, though, like trying to pull against gravity. An inexorable force, even though he wasn't hurting her hands.

"Because I didn't want anyone else but me _touching_ you!" Steve finally lost it. "I want to _kill_ Rumlow for what he dared to try, I want that Ward bastard dead for hurting you, I want – I want…" he ran down, letting go of her hands, turning away so he didn't have to meet the look in her dark eyes.

"What do you want?" Skye whispered, hardly daring to hope. She reached up and laid a hand gently on his back, feeling how tense his muscles were.

"You have to go," Steve said it, trying to keep his voice flat. "You need to leave, Skye."

"Not until you tell me what it is that you want." She walked around him, looking up at him. Reached up to frame his face in her hands, trying to make him look at her. "For too long, all you've done is focus on what other people _want_, what other people _need_ from Captain America, haven't you? So, Steve Rogers. What. Do. _You_. Want?"

"I want _you_," he met her eyes, and she just about melted at the anguish she saw there. His hands came up, threaded through her hair gently, and she realised they were trembling. "I've wanted you since we sat right here on the gym floor in the middle of the night and – and I don't trust myself around you, you couldn't stop me if I – Skye, you need to _leave_." He was leaning down towards her, his eyes trained on her mouth.

"No." She smiled up at him. "You're incorrectly assuming that I'd _want_ to stop you."

Steve swallowed. "Skye – this isn't about thinking that you _owe_ me anything..?"

"Shut up and kiss me before you stuff that big foot any further down your own thro_oohh_," Skye trailed off as he yanked her off her feet with a powerful arm around her waist and kissed her _extremely_ thoroughly.

**WELL.**

**Reckon that cleared the air suitably?**

**Hopefully, Steve will eventually remember that Skye does actually need to breathe…**

**And OF COURSE we know he'd never hurt her. But that doesn't stop him from being frightened that he MIGHT lose control, he wants her that much…**


	37. Get 'Em Off

**Chapter 37.**

Skye clung to Steve's huge shoulders as he kissed her. He made her feel tiny, fragile, delicate – the same way she'd once felt with Ward, but whereas there'd always been a slight edge of danger to Ward that had made her keep her distance (and thank God that her instincts were apparently sharp enough to know something was off about him), with Steve she felt nothing but _safe_. Warm, protected, and so very safe.

And very, very aroused. When he lifted her off her feet to kiss her she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, and since she was wearing a short skirt the only thing separating them from intimate contact was her thin panties and his jeans. She could feel his arousal through the denim, pressing hard against her.

"Gonna finish what you started this time?" Skye panted as Steve's mouth traced down her neck. He was holding her with one arm around her waist without apparent effort, the other hand sliding gently over the outside of her thigh against his hip.

"Huh?" Steve's brain had shorted out completely. He could _smell_ Skye's arousal, his enhanced senses telling him clearly that delicious slickness between her thighs was welling again in response to their passionate kiss. He licked his lips hungrily.

"Steve," she ran her fingers into his hair. "This is good. This is hella good. But I want you to fuck me, properly this time."

"Yes," he said eagerly. "Wait – no. I don't want you to think I don't respect you…"

"If you don't shut up and take me to bed right now I'm going to do – something you won't like!" she vowed passionately.

"Yeah?" he recovered enough to grin teasingly down at her. "And what's that?"

She unwound her legs from his waist, pushing at his chest in a clear indication she wanted him to put her down. He did so reluctantly, and then blinked with shock as she stooped down, clever fingers grabbing at the buttons of his fly.

"Maybe you will like it, who knows?" He was big enough, and aroused enough, that she only had to unfasten the first button to encounter the tip of his cock.

Steve let out a yelp as Skye _licked _him. "Oh, dear God!"

"He ain't gonna save you from this," Skye warned with a chuckle, unfastening more buttons so she could get her hands on him. Steve shuddered, his hands moving uncertainly, one dropping to thread gently into her hair. She was pretty sure he wasn't going to shove her down on his cock so she let him stroke her hair as she licked around his tip again before slowly sliding her mouth down, taking in as much of him as she could.

_Oh, shit, it had been way too long_. Steve had denied himself even the release of his own hand since he realised, a week after Malta, that every single time he jacked off he came gasping out Skye's name. It was degrading to her, and very wrong, he was convinced. But his body was built for peak performance in all areas, and that included sex. All those weeks without release had pent up in him until the slightest touch of her hot mouth had him right on the edge.

"Skye, I'm gonna come," he gasped, tugging slightly at her hair, trying to pull her off him. "I can't – _Skye_." It was a guttural moan as she put both hands firmly around the lower half of his cock and sucked harder, her cheeks hollowing.

_What the hell has the poor man been doing to himself?_ was all Skye had time to wonder before Steve came, moaning her name, hot jets of his semen hitting the back of her throat. She swallowed, licking him clean gently as he shuddered.

"You were wrong," Steve muttered hoarsely after a few moments.

"What about?" she looked up at him, dark eyes laughing.

"That I wouldn't like it."

"Funny, that." He was still rock-hard in her hands. She stroked experimentally and he groaned. "Fucking hell, Steve, what have you been doing?"

There was a dull flush burning on his high cheekbones. "It's what I've _not_ been doing," he muttered shame-facedly. "I need – since the serum, my body needs – oh, _God_, Skye – regular release."

"And why haven't you, then? Not so much why haven't you just been banging girls – or guys – left right and centre, I get that you wouldn't be into that, with your moral code, but surely you're not so Catholic you think masturbating will make you go blind or something?" Skye never let up with the movement of her hands on him, enjoying the short, harsh breaths and low moans he let out.

"I," he looked down at her, swallowed raggedly and reached down, taking her hands and lifting them off him, "I kept fantasizing about you. I didn't want to, I knew it was wrong, but even if I tried – well, no matter what I tried, it was you in my mind when I came."

Skye grinned up at him. "What, you think it's wrong to wank thinking about someone who's not your sexual partner? Seriously? You're going to condemn all those girls – and guys – who jack off thinking about Captain America?"

"That's – it's different!" He blushed harder. "They don't _know_ me."

Skye grinned mischievously. "Some of them might. One certainly does."

"What?"

"The night after we first met, right here, when you made me laugh," she stood on tiptoe and reached up to whisper in his ear, "I lay in bed and thought about you."

Steve swallowed. "Did you use Bob?"

"What?" she blinked.

_Oh, God, she didn't remember him using the vibrator on her_. "Uhhhh…"

Skye grinned. "So _that's_ how you did it. Who searched my room and gave you Bob?"

"Agent May," relieved she wasn't mad, Steve happily threw May to the metaphorical wolves.

"Well, yes. I did use Bob and I thought about you. And it wasn't the first or the last time." Skye smirked wickedly up at him.

"Oh dear God," she wasn't even _touching_ him, and just thinking about Skye lying on her bed, using that vibrator on herself, maybe moaning his name, had Steve edging too close again. "_Skye_," his voice came out low and rasping, and she pulled her hands from his and reached for his cock again. "No!" he grabbed her wrists, holding her away from him. "Not – here. I want…" he swallowed hard, fighting down the orgasm trying to explode through him.

"A bed?" Skye suggested. "Because I'm betting Stark will burn all these gym mats if we get any more down and dirty here than we already have."

Steve couldn't help but grin. "You're probably right. Will you come to my apartment?"

"Love to," she smiled artlessly up at him. "But only if you absolutely promise to put _this_ to its proper use." A delicate caress over his cock almost had him seeing stars.

"Yes," it was actually painful to tuck himself back into his jeans and fasten the buttons, but he didn't want to risk an embarrassing meeting in the elevator. Not that JARVIS would let anyone else in the elevator if he and Skye were having an intimate encounter…

Steve realised he was staring at Skye, thinking about holding her up against the elevator wall and fucking into her with long, deep strokes. He swallowed and looked away. "JARVIS, we're going to my apartment. Elevator please, and take the gym off lockdown."

"Of course, Captain Rogers," JARVIS responded, and the elevator doors slid open.

Steve was having trouble walking. And it was made worse by watching Skye sashaying in front of him, her hips swaying, her slender legs and those _boots_…

"You're doing that deliberately," he accused a bit breathlessly.

"Who, me?" she peeked over her shoulder at him, her dark hair swinging softly around her face. "Is there a _problem_, Mr Rogers?"

"You know damn well there is!" he lost it in a surge of need and shoved her up against the elevator wall, huge hands lifting her hips effortlessly until he could grind himself against her ass. "I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk," he moaned, all inhibitions wrecked by the frantic need to have her. "And then I'm gonna do it again."

For just a moment he thought he'd pushed too hard; that he'd scared her. And then she reached back behind her head, arching her back, putting her arms around his neck and twisting around to kiss him. "Hurry the fuck up, then," she panted between kisses.

JARVIS pinged discreetly as the elevator doors slid open, and Steve turned Skye around and lifted her, carrying her effortlessly into his apartment. She wrapped her legs around his waist again and this time, he dared to put a hand on her ass. And because her skirt rode up when she put her legs around his waist, it was an ass bare except for a pair of what felt like very tiny silky panties. _Wet_ silky panties.

Skye moaned against Steve's throat. "Bed. _Now_. Or floor. Don't care."

"I do care," he muttered gruffly, taking long strides towards his bedroom, mentally cursing Tony – _why the fuck were these apartments so huge?_ It was way too far from the elevator to the bed. Actually, he'd heard Clint bemoan that very same thing and not understood. Right now, he sympathised.

Finally they reached the bed and he was about to lower Skye onto it, but she clung on like a monkey and tugged him down with her, tearing at his shirt. He reared back and dragged it off over his head.

"Damn, you really _are_ that built," Skye explored him with her eyes. "I thought I'd imagined it."

Steve flushed. "What – what _do_ you remember?"

"Not Bob, apparently," dancing dark eyes met his, and he let out a slight cough of embarrassment. "I – honestly I'm not sure. It's kind of all mixed up and I'm not sure which bits I dreamed and which bits are real."

"Dreamed?"

"Yeah, dreamed." She poked a firm finger into his pectoral muscle. "You've been behaving _very_ badly in my dreams, Mr Rogers."

"Yeah?" his grin turned sensual. "How badly? This badly?" His hand ran up between her thighs suddenly, plucking at those damp silky panties. God, but he wanted to taste her again.

"Much worse than that," Skye let out a small gasp as one long finger insinuated beneath the wet fabric. "Steve!"

"I want to see you," he said hoarsely, "_please_."

"No!"

"What?" he froze at her sudden, emphatic refusal.

"It's my turn." Skye pushed at him, and while her slight strength would have been completely ineffective against his bulk, he let her move him away. "Or rather, your turn. You already got to see me naked. Get 'em off, Rogers. I want to see the goods."

"As long as I get to take your clothes off next," he bargained.

"You can take them off with your teeth if you want, I don't care, but not so much as this scarf is coming off until I've seen the full package." She flicked the ends of her scarf at him, the soft trailing threads ghosting over his chest, and he sucked in another hard breath before getting – somewhat painfully – off the bed to divest himself of his jeans.

**Aaaand I'm gonna stop there – this chapter's already too long. Sorry, you'll have to wait until next time to see if Steve and Skye finally get around to making the beast with two backs!**

**(Not quite a cliffhanger – but just as annoying!)**


	38. Please, Steve

**Chapter 38.**

He was a work of art, a flawless sculpture in human flesh, though even Michelangelo himself could not have created something so perfect. Skye just stared as Steve stripped off his jeans and running shoes, turning to lay the jeans tidily over a chair. Military training, she supposed. He even picked up the T-shirt he'd thrown aside before. She ran her eyes over him greedily as he moved, still incredulous that this was actually happening, that Steve Rogers, _Captain America_, wanted to make love to _her_. His arousal was undeniable, though, thick and red and certainly in proportion to his massive frame. Skye stared, wide-eyed.

Steve saw the look on her face and paused, half-way back onto the bed. "Skye – I'm not too big for you. We'll fit together, trust me…"

She giggled. "I'm not some blushing virgin, Steve, I know how it works. I'm just, well, _impressed_."

"Oh," he was the one who blushed. "You were staring. I thought you might have been a bit – _intimidated_."

"No. Anticipatory, maybe." She reached out her hands to him, but he shook his head.

"You've had your good look." He took one of her feet in his hands, grasping her boot at the heel. "I want to see you."

"You already saw everything," Skye grumbled, but she pulled her leg back, drawing her foot out of the boot, grinning to herself as he set it neatly by the bed before reaching for her other foot.

"And a very beautiful view it was," Steve's eyes were trained on her thighs, on her skirt riding up as he pulled her boots off. He licked his lips, nostrils flaring slightly as he _scented_ her.

"Are you _sniffing_ me?" Skye asked, a little horrified. His eyes slid up to hers and she gasped; his pupils were totally blown out, only the thinnest ring of blue surrounding them.

"So good," Steve said, his voice low and raspy with need. "You smell so good, you tasted so fucking amazing. I want more."

"Oohhh," was all she managed to get out as he nuzzled his way up her thighs. "H – help yourself."

He found the button of her skirt, popped it open, gently drew the zip down. "In a moment."

She didn't fuss, seeing that he'd gained control over his arousal for the time being. Instead she let him remove her clothes, slowly, his hands almost worshipful as he touched her lightly, sitting back on his heels and staring his fill.

"You already saw it all," Skye said shyly as he slowly peeled her panties off, the last thing covering her.

"It's different this time," he smiled down at her, letting his fingers trail lightly up her legs, from the soles of her feet, up the inside of her calves, stroking behind her knees. "This is by your choice, this time. I didn't think – well, I didn't think I'd ever get another chance with you."

She smiled up at him, and said; "Stop being so insecure, silly man, and kiss me."

"With pleasure." He leaned forward, but at the last moment dropped suddenly to his stomach between her legs and buried his face in her muff.

Skye let out a surprised squeak which quickly turned to a moan as his hot tongue stroked a swift stripe across her clit. Steve's big hands clamped on her ass, lifting her up to his face to give him better access, lapping and slurping at her thirstily.

"God, you taste good," he mumbled. "So fucking good. Mmm."

Skye ran her fingers into his soft blond hair, holding him close. What Steve was doing to her felt _amazing_, his tongue hot and clever, and he didn't appear to need to _breathe_, either, just kept going and _going_…

Skye's mouth opened in a silent scream, her back bowing as she panted, further wetness flooding into Steve's mouth. He drank greedily, kissing his way up over her stomach after a few moments, pausing to lavish attention on her breasts.

"So pretty," he murmured, "such lovely breasts – I didn't get to hardly play last time."

Skye could barely think in the aftermath of that shattering climax, and what Steve was doing with his lips and tongue was hardly helping. He grazed her nipple lightly with his teeth and she let out a strangled sound, clenching her fingers in his hair.

"Please," she managed to whimper out after a few moments. "Steve, please!"

He groaned, lifting his head, looking at her. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks flushed. "You have no idea what it does to me when you say that."

She only held her arms out beseechingly, and he smiled, reaching for the bedside table and a foil packet. Skye watched in fascination as he sat back on his heels and rolled the condom on, biting his lip hard as he smoothed it over his thickly swollen arousal. And then he was leaning over her again, bracing himself with one huge hand beside her head.

"You want it this way? I'll try not to go too deep, first time…"

He was big enough that it wasn't an idle threat. She'd probably be sore for days if he was too rough straight up. Skye nodded, gazing up at him trustingly, tracing her fingers wonderingly across his broad, thickly muscled chest, those massive shoulders. He let out a soft, needy sound as she flicked lightly over his nipples, and then he was pressing against her, guiding himself with his hand, thick and blunt and _stretching_.

Strangled sounds came from Skye's mouth, and Steve watched her carefully, frightened that he was indeed a bit big for her. But her eyes were eager, her hands pulling at him trying to make him come closer. And she was wet and oh so tight, but welcoming him in, hooking her ankles behind his thighs.

"_Steve_," she moaned, and he was lost, transported to heaven by the sound of his name spilling from her lips in that breathy tone once again.

"Sorry," he gritted out, "so sorry…"

"Sshhh," her small hands stroked his shoulders gently as he shuddered, hips jerking hard. "It's all right. It's all right."

He hid his humiliation by burying his face in her hair, spilling over the pillow in the way he'd so often dreamed of. He kept his weight off her by resting on his elbows, just leaning on her lightly, feeling her breasts rub against his chest.

"Sorry," he mumbled again. "I'll make it up to you."

She laughed softly, never ceasing with her gentle caresses. "Do you think I don't know that?"

He lifted his head, glad to hear the sincerity in her voice but wanting to check her expression. Skye smiled up at him, her dark eyes soft. "Considering your apparent refractory period, I somehow don't think I'll be leaving your bed disappointed."

"I very much hope not." He returned her smile, and leaned in for a kiss, slow, hot and full of promise. "Just give me a couple of minutes." He eased back out of her gently, moved off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Skye smiled and debated pulling the sheet over her, but realistically the apartment was a comfortable temperature and she felt very warm. Steve's body gave off heat like a blast furnace and she didn't doubt he'd be back quickly. On the other hand, she felt a bit exposed lying there naked, so instead she rolled to her front and took up what she hoped was a sultry pose facing the bathroom door, her chin propped on one hand, her knees bent and ankles crossed. The way Steve froze in mid-step and the look on his face when he came out and saw her was everything she might have hoped for.

"Wow," was all he said, after one long, thorough stare, and then he was striding across the room, kneeling on the bed beside her, one huge hand caressing gently over the curve of her ass and tracing up her spine. "You are – you look like a dream lying there. I wanna draw you like that." His Brooklyn accent had thickened. Skye tilted her head and gave him a smile full of promise.

"Gonna draw me like one of your French girls?"

Steve looked blank.

"Oh – it's a movie reference. From _Titanic_. We'll watch it sometime." Then, remembering the scenes of icy, drowning death, she said, "Or maybe not."

"Ohhh-kay?"

"Never mind." Skye laughed, rolled to her side and held her arms out. "Come here."

"Sometimes I feel like a dinosaur," Steve muttered, going into her arms willingly enough, pulling her half atop him so she sprawled across his chest, her hair spilling over his shoulder. "Too slow to survive in the modern world."

"You're not, you just missed out on a bunch of stuff. It takes time to acclimate. You're doing well," Skye told him firmly.

"Me an' Buck, an' Thor too, we've been catching up some. JARVIS gave us this list of movies and books. But I ain't seen the one about the Titanic sinking yet. Why would someone make a movie about a terrible tragedy like that?"

"It's a love story. It doesn't end well, he dies…" Skye trailed off. "Y'know what, never mind. I would love you to draw me. But," she traced a finger across his full lower lip teasingly. "Not _right_ now."

Steve's eyes brightened at her teasing tone. "Did you have something else in mind?"

"Maybe." She wriggled against him. He was still half-hard, and hardened further at her movement. "I reckon I could still walk, you see."

"Reckon I'll have to fix that, then." His hand slid down over her ass, hitched her up against him so he could kiss her, and then he hooked her knee and pulled it across his body, opening her up for his hand. Skye knew very well she was still wet, probably dripping, and she moaned against his mouth as his fingers started a leisurely exploration again. Her own hands were far from idle, sliding down across his chest and stomach as she wiggled back slightly, giving herself room – and not incidentally pressing his fingers deeper inside her.

Steve let out a moan of his own as her clever little hands stroked, one curling around the end of his cock and stroking, the other slipping below to cup and roll his balls. All the while their tongues played, a dance of drugging, heated kisses. He was rock-hard and aching again in under a minute, and she was ready, more than ready, he could feel from the slickness coating his fingers. Skye was the one who rolled over and reached for another condom. He groaned as she rolled it onto him gently, taking every opportunity to caress his arousal to still greater heights.

"Let's try it my way this time," she whispered against his mouth, pushing him to lie on his back and clambering astride him. She didn't sink down on him straightaway, though, sitting back on his thighs to stroke him some more until _he_ was the one begging.

"Skye! Oh God, please…"

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss him, rubbing against him, coating his sheathed erection in her silky juices. Steve groaned, fisting his hands in the bedcovers, because otherwise he'd end up gripping her hips too hard, leave bruises on her soft skin. Her breasts brushed against his chest, nipples hard and pebbled, and then finally she shifted her hips a fraction lower and eased back onto him.

Rocking gently, she took her time sinking down onto him, feeling the pleasurable stretch as she took him ever deeper. A couple of times she had to pause, get a breath, because she felt utterly full. Steve didn't try to move, didn't push her, just lay as still as he could manage and watched her from eyes gone dark with lust.

"Here," Skye said softly, taking his hand and pressing it between them. He caught on immediately, teasing around her clit as she shifted, taking a little more of him. "Wow, you are a big boy, aren't you?"

"We can stop," Steve said immediately, "it's all right… nnnggggh," as Skye pushed down a little harder and suddenly he was all the way inside, his fingers pressed between their groins.

"It's just been a while," breathless, she grinned at the look on his face. "Can't say as how the last guy – or any guy – has ever measured up to you, either. The question is, do you know how to use that weapon you've been blessed with, Rogers?"

He smiled. "Let's give it a try, hmmm?" He took both hands to her ass, sitting up and taking her with him, shifting his hips against her, loving the sounds she made. And then he starting lifting and lowering her on his achingly hard shaft, biting his lip hard to keep from coming too fast, watching as Skye flung her head back and moaned ecstatically.

"Oh yes, oh fuck Steve, that's good, yeah, do it, do it!" She was a talker, and a moaner, and he fucking loved every second of it, loved the way her firm little breasts bounced against his chest, her soft hair tumbling over his back as she leaned her forehead against his shoulder and trembled.

"Oh Steve," she moaned it softly, her mouth wet against his skin. "Please. So close. Please."

"Wanted this so bad," he gritted out, jerking her hard against him. "Wanted _you_. _Needed_ you. Oh, _Skye_…" she was coming, clenching around him, crying out against his shoulder, her whole body shaking, and she pulled him right over that cliff edge with her again.

**Finally!**

**Next chapter; someone pointed out that I haven't followed up on Fitz and Darcy, so let's go see what they're up to, hmm? And someone else asked for May and Natasha, but I REALLY can't write slash, or femslash sex. You'd end up laughing more than turned on. Sorry. You'll just have to imagine them being hot and dangerous together!**


	39. Sidekick To A Genius

**Chapter 39.**

Fitz had a secret vice.

He _adored_ hot showers. _Really_ hot, with the water pressure so strong it felt like pounding on his shoulders. And considering the antiquated facilities at the Playground, and the tube that masqueraded as a shower on the Bus, his short stay at Avengers Tower a few weeks ago had been the last chance he'd had to indulge.

So he headed rapidly down into the Tower, ignoring his three female team-mates who were quite clearly all about to get their brains banged out, even Skye. Fitz wasn't stupid. He just preferred to turn a blind eye to that sort of thing when it didn't directly involve him. Which, regrettably, it usually didn't.

"Hi JARVIS," he said cheerfully, slapping his palm on the identifier plate.

"Good day, Dr. Fitz, a pleasure to have you here again," JARVIS responded. "I believe Sir wishes to consult with you later about some of the designs you worked on together on your last visit?"

"Sure. First things first…"

"Your shower, sir? I have already activated the overpressure mechanism and set the water to your preferred temperature." JARVIS sounded smug.

"You're a legend, my friend."

"Thank you, sir. Enjoy your shower." The elevator doors whooshed softly open and Fitz headed straight for his room, dumping his bag on the bed and halfway stripped before he even got into the bathroom. He hopped ungracefully for a moment getting his boots and trousers off and then stumbled into the shower at last, groaning in relief as the steaming water hit the knots in the back of his neck. He had to hold himself up against the wall by his arms as the taut muscles slowly loosened.

Forty-five minutes later, considerably refreshed, Fitz pulled on some clean clothes and considered his next move. "Where is everyone, JARVIS?"

"Dr Simmons is with Agent Barton…"

"Not my team-mates, I can guess very well what they're doing!" Fitz cut JARVIS off. "I meant everyone else. Mr Stark, Dr Banner, Dr Foster… Miss Lewis?" he said Darcy's name last in the vain hope that JARVIS, at least, might be unaware of his interest in her.

"Sir is currently busy on a classified project with Mr Barnes and Mr Wilson. Dr Banner is sleeping. Dr Foster and Miss Lewis are in Lab 77 and are aware of your presence in the Tower. Miss Lewis left a message for you." JARVIS played what was obviously a recording, of Darcy's breathy, soft voice.

"Leo is here? How awesome! Ask him to join us if he gets some free time, would you, Jarv? I have the most amazing surprise for him!"

Fitz couldn't help smiling at the sound of her voice. Darcy could snark with the best of them, but she never did at him. She even insisted on calling him Leo, telling him that she thought he was as brave as a lion and he should claim the name for his own.

"I'll go join them for a bit then, JARVIS," he tried to sound cool and realised he was failing miserably.

"Very good, sir," Fitz was sure he could hear an undercurrent of amusement in JARVIS's smoothly modulated voice. He ignored the paranoid feeling and stepped into the elevator.

A short ride later and he was at Lab 77, Jane Foster's magnificently equipped astrophysics laboratory. Fully set up now, it looked astonishing; Fitz didn't even recognise half the machines. Some of them appeared to be put together with duct tape, though; he frowned. Not very efficient or aesthetically pleasing. Surely he could do something about that… his fingers twitched with the urge to grab some tools and get to work.

"Leo!" a high-pitched squeal made him turn, and a moment later Darcy came barrelling round the corner. For a moment he thought she would run right into him and braced for impact, but she skidded to a stop in front of him and looked shy for a second before suddenly demanding; "Give me a hug!"

Well, he was quite used to that sort of demand; both Jemma and Skye were chronic huggers. He opened his arms with a grin and Darcy immediately stepped into them and hugged him tightly. His arms closed around her and he breathed in the scent of her hair. It smelled sweet, like apples.

"Mm," Darcy's cheek was against his neck. "You smell good."

"Just had a shower," he muttered a bit sheepishly. "Felt a bit grubby when I got in."

"Oh, the showers here are the _best_, aren't they?" Darcy showed no inclination to back out of the hug even when Fitz loosened his hold. Looking up at him, she smiled, open and without artifice. "Missed you. Everyone around here is so _dull_."

"Thanks," a voice behind them said dryly.

Darcy finally disengaged from Fitz. "Yes, even you, Jane, with you it's either Thor! or Science! all the time, and well you know it!"

"Yeah, yeah," Jane rolled her eyes dramatically. "Well right now I am giving into your nagging and going to attend to the Eat! and Sleep! portion of your demands. Those scans should be finished in an hour or so, I am trusting you to collate the results by the time I regain consciousness, Darce. Hi and bye, Fitz, see you later."

"Hi Jane," he responded with a smile. "Um…" he looked at the nearest duct-taped piece of machinery.

"As long as it works exactly the same way as it did before, I don't care what you do to it," Jane grinned over her shoulder at him as she entered the elevator.

"Later, there's something I have to show you!" Darcy grabbed his hand and tugged, and unable to resist her infectious enthusiasm, Fitz followed her. She let him through the lab to a quiet, shadowy nook, pressed her finger to her lips to gesture him to be quiet, and pointed.

For a moment he couldn't quite figure out what he was supposed to be looking at. And then he realised that the strange shape on the table was a small, squashy beanbag.

With a capuchin monkey sleeping on it.

Fitz's mouth fell open. Seeing his face, Darcy smothered her giggles behind her hand and tugged him away. "We won't wake him yet, he's only young, he needs his sleep."

"What the – Darcy, why – _how_ do you have a capuchin monkey in your lab?"

"I adopted him. The Avengers took down this lab full of mad scientists and their evil creations, you know, the usual."

He didn't, but he nodded as though it made perfect sense. "And the monkey?"

"He was only a baby. His mother was one of the experimental subjects, and they were all infected, they had to be put down. But Watson was too little, they were keeping him in a separate cage in another room, waiting for him to grow up a bit so they could use him in their horrible experiments too. Bruce brought him back and, well, I asked if I could have him. He's so adorable, really clever and ever so easy to train – Leo, you've gone a funny colour, are you all right?"

_I really think you might be my perfect woman_. What Fitz said aloud was "You called him Watson?"

"Another sidekick to a genius, like me," Darcy grinned. "I'm so glad you're here, I know you know a lot about monkeys and I really wanted your advice."

_Oh_. He sagged a bit. _Of course_. She just wanted to pick his brain. That seemed to be all the use any woman had for him. _Well, what could he expect?_ Darcy lived in a tower full of superheroes. He didn't exactly measure up well by those standards.

"Leo?" Darcy was peering at him, her brow furrowed. "Do you not like him? I was hoping – I know you can't have a pet with your work, but I thought – if you help me train him, he'll be partly yours too, won't he?"

"You really mean that?"

"Of course," she gave him that shy, sweet smile again, nudging her glasses up her nose. "You told me how much you wanted a monkey for a pet. I wish I could give you Watson, but the best I can do is look after him and share him when you're here."

"Thank you," Fitz said around the lump in his throat. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Oh, pshaw," Darcy tried to wave it off, but he wasn't having any of it.

"You are a wonderful, generous person, Darcy Lewis, and I am very glad you're my friend."

She lifted her chin and gave him a brighter smile at that, and Fitz didn't fight the impulse to hug her again. She hugged him back, but she also stretched up and kissed him on the cheek, softly, her lips lingering.

Wondering if he'd misread the signal, Fitz hesitated. Darcy reached up, put one hand on his cheek, turned his head slightly towards her and looked him in the eyes.

"Are you gonna make me do all the work here, Leo?" she asked quietly.

Even he wasn't dense enough to miss that cue. He bent his head – she wasn't much shorter than him, but enough that he had to lean a little – and kissed her.

They were interrupted a couple of minutes later by a screeching monkey landing on Fitz's head and trying to pull his hair out.

"No! Watson, no! He thinks you're attacking me," Darcy tried to get the monkey off Fitz, who was yelping and jumping about. With one final vicious tug, Watson leaped off his head and into Darcy's arms, turning to chitter victoriously at his vanquished rival.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Fitz grabbed at his head, checked his fingers to see if there was any blood. Finding none, he pointed an accusatory finger at the monkey. "Apparently the first thing we need to teach you is some bloody manners!"

"And not to interrupt when his co-owners are sharing a very enjoyable kiss!" Darcy put in.

**They are so cute together – all three of them – I'm dying of the cutsieness!**


	40. I Love You, Jemma Simmons

**Chapter 40.**

**I'm speeding up the posting rate again for a little while. Want to get this finished by Christmas – and we really are not far from the end now, I'm currently writing the finale!**

Jemma woke after a short sleep, curled in the warm comfort of Clint's arms and ravenously hungry. Her stomach let out an embarrassing gurgle and she heard Clint's low chuckle in response.

"Guess I better feed you, eh, love?"

"If you want me to have any energy for the rest of the weekend, yes," she stretched languorously, not missing the way Clint stared. "No," she patted away his seeking hand. "Food."

He pouted slightly, sighed and nodded. "All right."

Jemma decided she wanted a shower first, since she felt sticky, and Clint came in with her. She tried to fend him off but he was irresistible, and in the end she let him soap her all over and stroke her to a shuddering climax with his fingers. He refused the return favour, though, saying he preferred to save himself for later, so she got to watch the very sexy show of him soaping himself up again.

"I could watch that all day," Jemma sighed, staring at the soap suds sliding down his sculpted chest.

"You might starve, though," Clint grinned, rinsing off and reaching to turn off the shower at last. "Come on, beautiful girl." He gave her a lingering kiss before handing over a towel.

Clint had ordered Chinese food with JARVIS before they went into the shower, and it was delivered a few minutes later. They sat at the table in the living room, both wearing nothing more than towels, and ate together, Clint occasionally feeding Jemma a bit of something particularly delicious. She was so beautiful sitting there opposite him, her hair damp and curling, her hazel eyes laughing as she delicately took the morsel he offered from his chopsticks.

"I love you," he said suddenly. She swallowed, blinking at him in surprise. "I didn't want you to think that I'm one of those guys who only says that in the bedroom."

"Oh, Clint," Jemma gazed at him lovingly. "I didn't think that." She got up from her chair and rounded the table to him, plopping herself into his lap and winding her arms around his neck as he pushed his own chair back. "I love you too, you know," she kissed him, warm and slow, and smiled at him when the kiss ended, leaning her forehead against his.

"Beautiful, beautiful girl," he murmured. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Well," she pretended to consider. "First you stalked me for years. Then you got yourself assigned to my team, ambushed me with the connivance of my superior officer, and banged me senseless."

"Oh," he grinned, playing along. "That's right, I remember."

"And then you kept _on_ banging me until I lost my head entirely and fell in love with you too." She kissed him again. "Not that I hadn't been crushing on you for years, probably even longer than you noticed me," she confessed. "I remember you coming to collect your Taser arrows from Fitz at the Academy. There you were, so sexy and handsome and broad-shouldered – you were like a wolf among sheep there, and I couldn't stop staring at you. All the girls did. We giggled like silly kids and thought about ways to attract your attention."

"You already had it, sweetheart," Clint murmured, moved by her confession. She hadn't told him that before. "I saw you that day, all sweet and shy. You blushed when I smiled at you."

"I was only nineteen," Jemma defended herself.

"Yeah, which is why I didn't make a move. You blushed every time I smiled at you in the years since, too. Which kept me intrigued."

"I'm a little bit worried," Jemma confessed, "that you'll get bored and want to move on now the chase is over."

His arms tightened around her. "No." It was a flat, firm, emphatic denial that made Jemma feel a bit better. Still, Bobbi had been subtly dripping poison into her ear all week, suggesting that the thrill of the chase was the only thing that interested Clint. Why, after all, would Clint want someone like Jemma when _Bobbi_ was available? The other woman was so stunning, after all, and had so much more in common with Clint than she did.

He didn't like her silence. "Jemma, what is it? I assure you I'm not going to get bored of you. You'll be the one who ends this, if it ends, because I sure won't. I know how damn lucky I am to have you, and I don't plan to throw what we have away, not for anything. Tell me what's bothering you."

When she still didn't say anything, he lifted her chin gently with his fingers, made her look him in the eyes, and finally said; "Bobbi and Lance."

"Are you psychic or something?" Jemma burst out, astonished.

"No, but I know them. Bobbi is insanely good at digging in under someone's skin, planting little seeds of doubt, twisting words and actions to make you believe whatever the hell she wants. And Lance – well, he's still mad with me. If he thought he could take away someone I cared about, he might well try it. Not that he'd hurt you, I don't believe that, but if he could turn you against me – or me against you – he might well do that."

"It's not him so much," Jemma admitted. "He seems quite nice, honestly. He's been kind of flirty but it's almost heavy-handed, and I could tell he was watching me really carefully to see how I'd react. I think he's been testing me, actually, to see how deep my feelings for you are."

Clint's mouth tightened at the revelation that Hunter had been flirting with Jemma. He'd have to ask May to keep an eye on that. "So it's Bobbi who's been the real problem. Why am I not surprised?"

"She's very good at being, well, _catty_," Jemma murmured. And finally, at Clint's gentle probing, she told him everything she could recall about her talks with the other woman, about Bobbi's seeming friendliness and kindly 'advice'. She'd even been trying to push Jemma at Fitz or Trip; but she and Fitz had long since agreed that was _never_ going to happen and Trip, while he was friendly, also made it clear how much he respected Clint and would never even consider making a move on his girl.

"Bitch," Clint muttered. "Look – I'd say I'll have a talk with her, but the way you feel right now I daresay you don't want me within a hundred miles of her."

Cheeks pink, Jemma nodded. "I know I'm being silly and irrational, but I don't think I can help it when it comes to you."

He smiled at that. "I like you being silly and irrational over me. But listen," he framed her face in both his hands, making her meet his eyes. "I _love_ you, Jemma Simmons. I want _you_, in my life, in my bed, in all ways. Bobbi Morse _repulses_ me. Let her and Lance play their silly games and ignore anything she says to you about me. If you must listen to either of them, listen to Lance; at least he'll tell you the truth without twisting it, even if he probably will tell stories that don't paint me in a flattering light. You know what I am; I've told you a fair bit of my ugly past, the worst of it anyway, and you haven't flinched from me yet."

"And I never will, no matter what I hear," she promised him. He had indeed told her about some of the genuinely ugly things he'd done, whether as a S.H.I.E.L.D. assassin or the mercenary killer he was before Coulson picked him up. Even about Loki and what he'd done under the mad god's control. His past had shaped him, hardened him, but at the core, Clint was a good man. One who had found a place here with the Avengers that finally allowed him to choose his targets according to his own moral code.

"Just promise me you won't listen to Bobbi. Even if she tells you the truth, she's liable to twist it around. Lance always said she could get you believing black was white and up was down. It's what she does and she's one of the best at it. _Don't_ try confronting her and telling her to back off, she'll use your own feelings against you and make it worse."

"I promise."

"And if she gives you too much trouble, I'll set Natasha on her," Clint grinned suddenly. "Natasha can tie even Bobbi in knots."

Jemma giggled at his suddenly light-hearted tone. "Now that I should like to see!"

"Maybe someday. Right now we need to finish our dinner before it's all cold," he grinned lasciviously, "and then I'm gonna take you back to bed and demonstrate that you have no need to worry about me wanting _anyone_ but you." He grabbed a spring roll from his plate and made her take a bite. "Now eat! You're gonna need your energy."

Laughing, Jemma claimed the rest of the spring roll and returned to her seat. Clint changed the subject and they enjoyed the rest of their meal in comfortable companionship. Afterwards, though, Clint wasted no time in carrying Jemma back to his bed, taking his time about worshipping her body with his hands and mouth, showing her just how much she meant to him, whispering words of love against her skin as she thrashed under him and sobbed out his name.

Finally Clint took his own pleasure, rising above Jemma and burying himself deep within her welcoming heat. He managed to push her on to one final, shattering climax before letting go and pumping himself dry inside her, a low, triumphant roar coming from deep in his chest.

Limp and sated, Jemma fell asleep almost immediately. Clint, though, lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, worrying. He hadn't really said anything about it because he wanted to assuage Jemma's own fears, but what if _she_ was the one who got bored with _him_? She worried about him with other women, but honestly he rarely had an opportunity to meet any. Not that he would have been interested anyway.

Jemma, on the other hand, was embedded on a team with a number of single, attractive men, at least two of whom showed interest in her – Lance deliberately flirting with her worried him, and he hadn't missed Trip's affectionate glances, even though he knew Trip well enough to be confident the other man would never make a move on Clint's girl, not while he and Jemma were together.

It took a long time for Clint to fall asleep, and several times during the night he woke in a cold sweat from bad dreams of seeing Jemma with other men, Lance, Trip, Fitz, Steve, Sam – even Coulson! Jemma, though, had got used to him waking from nightmares when they lived in London, and each time moved closer, putting her arms around him, comforting him with her touch and her presence even in her sleep.

**Next chapter; off to see what Steve and Skye are up to!**


	41. I Want You To Be My Girl

**Chapter 41.**

**Three chapters in two days? What's going on, I hear you cry?**

**I want to get this finished. And it WILL be finished by Christmas because I am writing a Christmas finale scene which WILL be posted on Christmas Day (Australian time, so possibly Christmas Eve for some of the rest of you).**

**Merry Christmas. You're welcome.**

Skye couldn't move. Literally could not move. Steve had made good on his promise on fucking her until she couldn't walk – with her very enthusiastic consent, and indeed encouragement, Skye had to concede. Four more times he'd taken her, using his strength to move her into positions that would have been impossible for any other man, each time careful to ensure that she found her own pleasure before taking his.

Right now he was in the bathroom, running a bath in the huge spa tub, which Skye was very much going to need. She felt wrung-out, exhausted in the best possible way, aching in very unfamiliar places. She grinned wearily to herself. Who could have guessed that the upright, moralistic Captain America could be such an animal in the sack?

Guilt consumed Steve as he returned to the bedroom and saw Skye sprawled out on the bed, her eyelids drifting. "Come on, sweet girl," gently he lifted her into his arms. "Let's get you washed."

"Umm." Skye retained enough presence of mind to twist her hair up into a loose knot on top of her head as he stepped into the tub and lowered them both in, sitting down and settling her between his legs, her back against his chest.

Steve soaped a washcloth and gently began to wash Skye. He hadn't missed her slight hiss of pain as he lowered her into the hot water. He'd used her too hard, he berated himself silently. Taken too much. What an idiot he'd been; he'd thrown away his one chance with Skye by being a selfish, greedy bastard. She wouldn't want anything to do with him after this.

His train of thought was temporarily derailed by Skye turning her head and kissing the hollow of his throat. "Skye?" he said a bit uncertainly. "Are you all right?"

"Amazing," she sighed. "Feel amazing. Want to sleep in your arms and then wake up and do that all over again."

"You do?" the surprised note in his voice had her opening her eyes, pulling away and turning to get a good look at his face.

"Why on earth would I _not_ want a repeat performance?" she asked, bemused. "That was the best sex of my life!" If she wasn't so exhausted she'd be all over him like a rash even now, because he looked gorgeous sitting there in the water, all wet golden muscle, his blond hair damp and slicked back, blue eyes shining.

"I thought," he gestured at her uncertainly, "I mean, you're exhausted, and obviously sore…"

"Yeah, but it's the _really good_ kind of exhausted and sore," Skye cut him off. "Trust me, after this bath and a good night's sleep – and probably some food – I'll be begging for more again by morning." She smiled at him, crawled back into his lap and reached up for a kiss.

"I thought I'd done too much," Steve muttered, red-faced. "That you'd want to leave and not see me again…"

"Not unless you're kicking me out."

"Definitely not!" His arms tightened around her, though he was careful to control his strength. "_Definitely_ not."

"Good." Skye settled down against him again. "Now can you get JARVIS to order some food? I'm tired but I really should eat before I sleep, and you should definitely fuel up," she elbowed him in the stomach gently.

"What would you like?" Steve inquired. "JARVIS has every restaurant within ten blocks on speed-dial, and Tony even has a guy on staff whose job it is to go collect so we don't have to wait on their delivery schedule."

"Of course he does," Skye shook her head. "Um – pizza?"

"Sounds good. How do you like it?"

"Everything but anchovies."

Steve spoke to JARVIS and ordered the food; Skye was mildly freaked out briefly, feeling as though they were being observed in this very private moment, but Steve, sensing her tension, assured her that there were no cameras, only JARVIS's audio pickup and some heat sensors to monitor his well-being in his apartments, and JARVIS certainly wasn't recording them or anything like that. The AI would respond only when he was addressed directly, and would call Steve's attention otherwise only in emergencies.

"It's still vaguely creepy," Skye muttered as Steve lifted her from the bath, swathing her gently in a huge, fluffy towel.

"I thought so too at first but I soon got used to it. Honestly he's very convenient, I do understand why someone as busy as Tony decided to build him."

A chime from JARVIS announced the pizza delivery; Steve left Skye to finish drying herself and went to collect.

Skye barely managed to chew her way through two slices of pizza before her eyelids were drifting again. Seeing Steve still plowing through the pizza she told him to finish eating and headed off to brush her teeth before bed, grimacing at the way she had to walk bow-legged due to her aching hips and thighs. She found a pack of ibuprofen in her toiletry bag and took a couple with a grin, thinking that _sex with a super-soldier_ was not a reason she'd ever anticipated needing them for.

Skye was sound asleep by the time Steve came to join her. She'd pulled on his discarded T-shirt from earlier and lay curled up on the bed, a compact sleeper. She'd have to be, he thought, remembering the size of those tiny sleeping cubicles on the Bus. She didn't stir when he lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms. It was blissfully quiet; Thor wasn't in the Tower tonight and Clint and Jemma had stopped making noises a little while ago.

Steve drifted off to sleep with Skye curled against his chest.

He woke at his usual early hour with Skye still asleep on him. Gently, he eased her off, but she was still deeply asleep and didn't stir. The pale early light of dawn was just beginning to creep through the windows, and she looked beautiful in his bed, the white sheets tangled around her. He couldn't resist slipping quietly out of bed and going to fetch his sketchbook and pencil.

Skye woke alone in the huge bed. Almost automatically, she reached out her hand for Steve, but the other side of the sheets was cold. He'd been gone some time. Her fingers encountered the crackle of paper and she lifted it and blinked blearily before her eyes opened wide with astonishment.

It was a drawing of her, but as she'd never seen herself, her face relaxed and peaceful, one stray lock of hair spilling over her cheek. Simply executed, it was utterly beautiful. There was no signature, but at the bottom Steve had written;

"I wish I could wake up to this lovely sight every morning. SR."

He'd probably gone for a run or something, but left this for her before he did. Skye clutched the drawing to her and fell asleep again with a smile on her face.

"JARVIS, is Skye awake?" Steve asked, re-entering the Tower after his run. He manfully ignored Bucky just behind him, who snorted with laughter.

"She awoke briefly earlier, sir, but her breathing and movement patterns indicate she is asleep again," JARVIS responded after a moment.

"Okay, do you have her breakfast preferences on record? I might take her breakfast in bed. Shut _up_, James." Steve elbowed Bucky, who was outright chortling now, in the ribs.

"Stevie's got it _baaaaad_," Bucky – who still couldn't bear the name, but Steve struggled to think of him as James, even though he was careful to call him that – sing-songed at him.

"Yes I do, what of it?"

"Skye and Stevie, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

"What are you, five?" but Steve was secretly pleased to see him smiling and laughing. He'd let Buck tease him all he wanted just to see that smile on his face again.

"Well, I hope you're gonna treat her like a lady, punk," James said, suddenly serious, as they entered the gym heading for the showers. "Do the right thing by her now."

"T'ain't the forties any more, Bu-James. Girls don't expect a ring once they've, uh, _put out_."

"Steven Grant Rogers, if your mother could only hear you now!"

"I'm not saying I _don't_ want to get serious with Skye!" Steve defended himself from James's censuring gaze. "Just that if I asked her to marry me or somethin' this early she'd prob'ly think I was cracked in the head!"

"Fair 'nuff," James said, and then turned to look Steve straight in the eyes. "Just make sure you don't leave her hanging, or in any doubt where she stands with you. That's no way to treat a lady."

It was probably significant, Steve thought as he washed away the sweat from his run, that Bucky called Skye a _lady_, not a _dame_ or a _doll_. It showed significant respect, even from their one brief meeting she'd obviously made an impression.

Well, it hadn't taken her long to make an impression on him either, had it? Steve smiled to himself. Not long at all. Skye was special, he'd known that from their first meeting. And right now she was upstairs asleep in his bed. He felt himself getting hard again at the thought and sternly told his body to behave. Likely Skye would be way too stiff and sore this morning for him to make love to her again, much though he longed to. Well, he'd pamper her as she deserved instead.

Skye woke to the heavenly scent of bacon wafting under her nose, and discovered that Steve had brought her a delicious breakfast and a huge mug of coffee. She ate happily, and afterwards thanked him for the lovely drawing of her.

Steve flushed a little bit, taking Skye's tray off the bed. "I wanted you to know how I see you. And also not to think that I'd just left…"

"I get it." She put her hand on his arm, smiling warmly. "You don't need rest the way I do. You'd have been pretty bored lying here watching me snore."

"You don't snore," Steve said automatically, smiling when he saw her teasing grin. He picked a bit nervously at a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt. "Skye – look, I don't know how this stuff works in the modern world, I really don't. Back in my day if a girl spent the night with a guy – well, she _wouldn't_ have spent the night with a guy unless they were engaged or seriously courting, but I don't want to push you into anything or make assumptions…"

Skye sorted through the confused tangle of statements. "Are you asking me if I want to _go steady_ with you?" she bit back a giggle at the old-fashioned phrase, not wanting to upset him.

"Yes!" Steve said in relief. "I want you to be _my_ girl. And I want us to be _exclusive_ – is that the right word?"

"That's the right word." Skye smiled. "Yes."

"Yes, you will?"

"Yes, I will. After last night, I'm not sure how anyone else could compare, anyway."

He was quite clearly resisting the urge to kiss her senseless for that statement, so Skye removed his will to resist by whipping off the T-shirt she was wearing and crawling into his lap.

"On the other hand," she purred, "I might need a _little_ more persuading that you're the man for me…"

**Ohhh, I reckon Steve could be pretty persuasive if he put his mind to it, don't you?**

**And BTW I am going to refer to Bucky as James or Barnes from now on. It's too confusing having them call him one name and referring to him by another.**


	42. I'm Game If You Are

**Chapter 42**

"Let me see what I can do to persuade you, then," Steve grinned, giving up any thoughts of restraint with Skye naked in his arms, pulling at his shirt demandingly. He removed it quickly, groaning with pleasure as she ran her hands up his chest, pressed her mouth against one flat nipple, teasing with her tongue.

It hadn't taken Skye long to discover how sensitive Steve's nipples were, almost as much as hers. One huge hand ran into her hair as she mouthed at him, holding her close, even as the other slipped between her legs.

Skye was tiny compared to his size, fragile against his strength. But she wasn't afraid to demand what she wanted from him, was learning that she could bend him to her will with nothing more than a look from her dark eyes and a whisper of his name. Steve let out a most unmanly whimper as her hands deftly unfastened the waist of his pants and slipped inside.

"Something you want, Mr Rogers?" Skye lifted her mouth from his nipple and glanced up at him teasingly as she used both hands to wrap firmly around his already-erect cock. "Something you _need_?"

"Skye," he choked out, and then as she slid lower on the bed, clearly intending to suck on him, "wait."

"Hmm?" Skye glanced up at him, arching her brows. He slipped his hand from her crotch and tugged hastily at his pants, stripping off eagerly.

"Come sit on my face," Steve invited hopefully.

"Sixty-nine, oh I like the way you think." Skye grinned happily. He had a very talented mouth, and as she'd previously noted, apparently could go a _long_ time without coming up for air.

"That what it's called? Makes sense."

She smiled, settling her knees on either side of his head. Their height difference might have made it awkward but his cock was so long she could still get plenty of it into her mouth. She propped one arm on the bed and used the other hand to slide around the base of his cock. As soon as she did, she felt his hands on her breasts.

"Aaah," Skye twitched slightly as he tweaked her nipples. And then she quickly opened her mouth and licked at the head of Steve's cock, tonguing the slit lightly, tasting the pre-cum that was already starting to seep there. As soon as her tongue touched him he reciprocated, licking swiftly at her clit. And he kept on mirroring her movements, touching lightly when she did, squeezing her nipples more firmly when her hand clenched on his cock, plunging his tongue deep into her when she sucked on the swollen head of his arousal.

The only way Steve could keep from coming down Skye's throat almost immediately was to concentrate hard on her actions, mirroring her movements. She was obviously enjoying it, slick wetness coating his tongue, her hips shifting, soft wet mouth working harder on his cock. A little moan sounded in her throat, vibrating along his length, and Steve groaned deep in his chest. He scraped his teeth deliberately over her clit and Skye had to take her mouth off him for a moment.

"Steve," she gulped brokenly. "Steve – I can't…"

He didn't bother responding. Just thrust his tongue deeper and used his teeth and upper lip to work her swollen, sensitive clit.

"STEVE!" It was an actual scream, and Steve wondered suddenly if Clint's hearing was acute enough to hear that. Well, it might be a tiny bit of revenge for that time he'd kept Steve awake half the night banging Jemma.

Skye collapsed, forehead on Steve's stomach, unable to do more than gasp in stuttering breaths. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she mumbled, trembling.

"Stop taking His name in vain," Steve said in amusement, lifting her gently off him and laying her on her back.

"Shut up, I just saw heaven."

He smiled, wondering if she was up to taking him again. She answered the question by ordering;

"Sit up."

"Hmm?"

"Back against the headboard."

He obeyed, his eyes widening as Skye peeled herself off the mattress and clambered into his lap. "You sure, sweetheart, you're not sore…?"

"Shut. Up." She kissed him, tasting herself of his mouth, and reached for another condom. It was the last one, and she waved the packet at him. "Need to go shopping."

He nodded jerkily as she rolled it on, teasing him with light, quick strokes to his balls, a trimmed fingernail against his ass making him suck in a sharp breath. "I'll go… oh, Skye… please…"

"Something you want?" she taunted again, moving closer, pressing her knees against his hips, grabbing his hands and lifting them to her breasts. "Because I know what _I _want, Steve Rogers. I want that beautiful big cock of yours in me again."

He groaned as she eased down on him, a tight wet fist of muscles gripping his shaft. "So tight," he gasped, barely retaining enough presence of mind to play with her nipples as she obviously wanted.

"Don't you dare come yet." Her hand reached behind her and grasped his balls, pulling them away from his body, and he cried out, a wordless yell. "We've only got one condom and we're not wasting it. Now make me come, Steve, and do it _hard_." Skye leaned in and bit Steve's neck as hard as she could, knowing the bruise would last hours at best, but she wanted him to _feel_ it. And apparently he very much liked it because he made that wordless sound again and suddenly his huge hands were grasping her hips, jerking her up and _slamming_ her back down on his cock.

It felt like being impaled on a fence post, he was so huge. It felt _wonderful_. Combined with the sensitivity from the first orgasm she'd had on his tongue, the fierce way Steve was holding her and the almost wild look in his blue eyes, Skye was heading back for the cliff edge very quickly.

"Gonna come," she gasped, "gonna come on your cock, Steve, make me come, fill me up oh God _YES_ STEVE!"

Skye was squealing and bouncing on him, her hard nipples brushing his chest, her hair falling down her back in a silky dark cascade as she flung her head back in ecstasy, her hands clawing at his shoulders. Steve gazed at her in awe; he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. In the fresh morning light, the sunshine haloing her dark hair, she looked like an angel, a very debauched angel there in his lap as he fucked up hard into her. And then she tensed against him and he felt her passage tighten even more, milking him hard.

"_Skye_," he roared her name even as she squealed his, erupting deep inside her, his hips jerking uncontrollably as the hot pulses seemed to go on and on. She was still coming, clenching around him, sobbing breaths against his shoulder, when his vision cleared, and Steve put his arms around her and held on, stroking her back as she shuddered and gasped.

Finally Skye went limp against him and he held her still, petting her hair, murmuring softly into her ear, telling her how wonderful she was, how beautiful.

"Ummm," Skye sighed at last, lifting her head and kissing up across Steve's shoulder, his neck and jaw until he turned his head and captured her lips with his own. "You are so, so good at that."

He looked a bit bashful, and she grinned, tossing back sweaty hair. "Wow. I really need a shower. And then maybe we can come back and do this all over again?"

"I'm game if you are," Steve responded instantly, grinning as she climbed a little stiffly off him and headed for the bathroom. He admired her pert, rounded ass as she walked away, and Skye looked over her shoulder, catching him staring.

"You _just_ had me."

"And I already want you again."

She laughed, and slid the bathroom door closed in his face. "Not this time. I want a shower in peace!" she yelled when he knocked hopefully. Steve sighed and headed for the spare bathroom in his apartment.

**Posting a couple of chapters a day at the moment as I really want to get this done by Christmas, so make sure you didn't miss any updates! Hope this one was steamy enough for you!**


	43. I Know What It's Like

**Chapter 43**

Skye would probably have convinced Steve to go fetch condoms and then stay in bed with her for the rest of the day, except that JARVIS relayed an invitation (worded rather firmly) from Pepper Potts for her to attend a 'girls' lunch' in the penthouse. And in all honesty – well, she _was_ sore. A break would do her good. And she could almost see Jemma bouncing excitedly on her toes demanding to know how things had gone with Steve. That is, if Jemma hadn't overheard – pulling on a clean pair of jeans, Skye blushed as she thought about just how much noise she and Steve had been making.

Although the apartments were supposed to be soundproof, weren't they? And it was only Steve's super-soldier hearing that had enabled him to overhear Clint and Jemma…

Of course, the fact that she was terminally bow-legged would have given her away anyway, Skye mused, as she exited the elevator into the penthouse and was met with knowing grins from all the other women. Jane Foster looked particularly sympathetic. Well, the size difference between Jane and Thor was even more marked than that between Steve and Skye, although Skye wondered… _no_, she was _not_ going to start speculating about the relative size of Steve and Thor's penises, good God, she had sex on the brain.

Skye plopped into a dining chair, pleased to find it cushioned, and accepted the glass of champagne Pepper handed her, smiling up at the tall redhead.

"Sorry to drag you girls out of your love nests," Pepper said to Skye and Jemma with a twinkle in her eye, "believe me, I know what it's like to have a superhero shagging you senseless, but you two are starting to walk a bit bow-legged and I thought you could use a respite."

"A _bit_?" Natasha fake-coughed into her glass.

"And besides," Pepper gave Natasha a stern look, "just think how happy they'll be to see you when I send you back!" She frowned, surveying the table. "Someone's missing – oh, it's Darcy. JARVIS, where's Darcy?"

"On her way now, Ma'am," JARVIS replied urbanely. And just then Darcy came rushing out of the elevator, babbling apologies for being late. They all stared at her. Her dark hair was wildly tangled, her lips swollen and red, and there appeared to be about fifteen hickeys on her neck.

"Darcy, what _have_ you been doing?" Pepper said in surprise.

"Uh, Fitz and I…" Darcy took in Jemma and Skye's astonished stares. "What?"

"_Fitz?_" Jemma said, pure shock in her voice, staring at Darcy's neck.

Darcy turned up the collar of her blouse, stuck her nose in the air and sat down at the table. "Y'know what, just your tone of voice says you aren't going to believe me."

"Darcy, stop teasing them. It was the monkey, wasn't it? Darcy has a pet monkey," Jane told Jemma, who grinned in sudden understanding.

"_Actually_," Darcy helped herself to champagne and smiled smugly around the table, "Watson has been asleep _all morning_."

Jemma looked at Skye. Who looked at May, who was failing completely to keep her inscrutable May-face on.

"Good for Fitz," Natasha was the one who spoke in the end.

Pepper smiled. "Well said, Natasha. Darcy, would you fill Jemma's glass, since you have the bottle? Thank you." She expertly steered the conversation into less dangerous waters, chatting about New York, the Tower facilities, good nearby restaurants and other things they might be interested in seeing. Jane started talking science to Jemma after a bit and Skye finally got her chance to pick Natasha's brain on hacking techniques.

They were finishing up the fifth bottle of champagne when JARVIS interrupted apologetically.

"Excuse the interruption, Miss Potts, but Director Coulson is on the line with an urgent call for Agent May."

May considered herself on call, in case she had to fly, and hadn't been drinking. She exchanged a quick glance with Skye and Jemma. "Could I take the call privately somewhere please, Pepper?"

Pepper rose, still graceful even after the best part of a bottle of champagne, and in five-inch heels. "Of course. This way." She escorted May to a door.

May returned five minutes later, her face grim. "I'm sorry to break up the party, and even sorrier to wreck the weekend," she said, "but we have to go. There's a situation. JARVIS, please alert Fitz. Skye, Jemma – twenty minutes."

"One moment." Pepper stood, went to the bar and poured two shot glasses full of something a pale bluish colour. "Drink this, girls. You'll feel vile for a minute or two and then you'll be stone-cold sober."

"Better had," Skye said glumly, taking a glass. She toasted Jemma with it. "Cheers!"

Pepper was right, it was _foul_. Jemma coughed, eyes watering for a moment, but then her head miraculously cleared. "Oooh. Could I have a sample of that for analysis, please?"

"I'll have Bruce send you the formula. He came up with it to sober Tony up for times when they really needed Iron Man. Not that Tony really drinks these days, but, well – I've used it myself a time or two." Pepper smiled.

"You're very lovely, thank you," Skye impulsively reached up and kissed her cheek.

"Why thank you, Skye! Now run and pack and say goodbye, and do _not_ let those sexy men of yours tempt you back into bed. Difficult though it may be to resist." Pepper twinkled at them again.

"I packed your stuff," Clint was waiting for Jemma when she stepped out of the elevator into his apartment. The doors swished shut on Skye's grin. "So we have ten minutes…"

"We are _not_ going back to bed for ten minutes!"

"I didn't say _anything_ about the bed, Jemma. That was you." He folded his arms, showing off his biceps. And a lot of other muscles, since he wasn't wearing a shirt.

"That's not fair," she gulped, unable to stop staring.

"Nor was it fair that you put on that cute little dress and went to lunch without me, and now you're leaving before I got to carry out the _plans_ I had for this afternoon. Now come the fuck over here."

Jemma had worn the dress in anticipation that Clint would like it and want to take it off her afterwards. She really hadn't thought that he'd just shove her up against the wall, yank the skirt up, rip her panties off with a twist of his strong wrists and slam two fingers deep inside her as his mouth slanted over hers.

It was the first time Clint had ever seen her wear an actual _dress_. And it was such a Jemma sort of dress, with a knee-length flared skirt and a pattern of tiny white polka-dots over a navy-blue background, a boat-shaped neckline showing off her slender white neck and shoulders, a scarlet ribbon emphasizing her small waist. She'd paired it with navy kitten heels with a tiny white bow, and he couldn't begin to describe the effect the conservative, yet pretty outfit had on him. He'd practically salivated as she walked out of the bathroom wearing it, and only some very stern words from Jemma had convinced him to let her go to lunch.

And now he had to let her leave for real, but she wasn't going until he'd had her, until he'd put marks of his possession on her pale skin, filled her up with his seed and made damn sure any other man she encountered today would smell him on her and know she was _his_.

Jemma panted and squirmed on Clint's fingers. He usually liked to take his time with her, not that he wasn't sometimes rough, and she did very much like it when he was – but this almost frantic urgency was new. And really very exciting. She willingly wrapped her legs around his waist when he hoisted her up, sank her nails into his biceps as he plunged slowly deep.

"Fuck, you're tight," Clint groaned, nipping at Jemma's soft throat. "Didn't get you ready enough, did I? You all right, sweetheart?"

"Don't you _dare_ stop now, Clinton," she panted.

He smiled, grasped her hips and set up a brutal, driving rhythm, loving the way she screamed his name and clawed at him, her heels digging into his ass. And when she came, convulsing hard on him, he shouted her name before letting go himself, slamming as deep as he could and spurting hard into her welcoming heat.

JARVIS pinged discreetly. "Dr Simmons…"

"Yes," Jemma panted out as Clint eased from her and set her gently on her feet, his hands on her waist to steady her.

"Miss Skye has just called for the elevator. Shall I stop it to collect you on the way up?"

"Yes. Can you give me a minute?" Jemma's hands were shaking. Clint kissed her once, hard, dragging his sweatpants back up, and then went to his room and returned with her bag, silently holding out a pair of clean panties. The pair he'd shredded off her, he picked up and put in his pocket without the slightest hint of remorse as she stepped into the fresh ones.

"I don't like this," Clint pulled Jemma into his arms suddenly. "I know you can't tell me why you've been called back…"

"May didn't even tell _us_," Jemma protested.

"Look, I just have a bad feeling. My gut's kept me alive all these years, I've learned to trust it when I feel something bad is coming. Promise me, if something goes wrong and you think your team are out of their depth, you'll call me?"

Jemma hesitated.

"I'm not trying to interfere. But it would kill me if I lost you now, Jemma." His eyes were piercing, more grey than blue as he stared at her, trying to make her understand. "_Promise_. If the shit goes bad and you need backup? _Call_ _me."_

"I promise," Jemma said, unable to deny that look in his eyes. The doors dinged open and Clint let her go with one last kiss, handing her bag over. She stepped into the elevator beside Skye, unable to look at him as the doors slid closed.

Skye looked at Jemma's messy hair and creased dress and her eyes widened. "You didn't," she said disbelievingly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jemma said innocently. And then she saw her reflection in the elevator's mirrored wall and winced. She really did look like she'd just been thoroughly fucked against a wall, hair all over the place, lips swollen, a fresh bruise blooming on her neck from Clint's teeth. Well, about all she could do was smooth her hair and dress down as Skye laughed at her.

They arrived on the roof to see Fitz and Darcy in a heated clinch. Fitz looked about as ruffled as Jemma felt when Darcy finally let go of him and walked back into the Tower with a sassy roll in her hips. Jemma couldn't help but smile at her best friend's dazed expression.

"That girl's like a freight train," she said, linking her arm through Fitz's and walking with him into the quinjet. "Unstoppable."

**Right, a brief bit of explanation of where I'm at in terms of AoS canon. This chapters in the Tower take place between Episodes 5 and 6 of Season 2, **_**A Hen In The Wolf House**_** and **_**A Fractured House**_**. After episode 6 events accelerate with Ward's escape and Coulson's carvings and I don't believe there would be time for interaction between the AoS team and the Avengers.**

**Consequently, I'm going to pick up the thread of the story again during the events of Episode 9 and Episode 10. Spoilers abound so if you haven't seen the episodes and don't want to be spoilered don't read on!**

**I am TRYING to end this fic, so obviously it's going to be AU after Episode 10! But since we won't find out anything that happens until March, until then, it happens MY way…**

**Oh, and incidentally, the Lance/Bobbi short What Happens In The Car **_**does**_** happen in this AU, if you didn't read it. You could consider it to be Chapter 43a.**


	44. Make The Call

**Chapter 44.**

"I'm going to have to tell Coulson that Ward's taken Skye." May didn't look at Trip. There was complete silence in the cockpit for a few minutes.

"Don't you think you should call Steve, too?" Trip said quietly. May said nothing. "May – he should know."

"I'm under orders not to discuss anything about this mission with anyone outside the team." She slid dark eyes sideways at him for a moment. Said nothing more.

Trip cursed himself inwardly for not getting Clint's number when he had the chance. The Koenigs probably wouldn't have it, and while Hunter might, he and Bobbi both still acted weird whenever Barton's name came up. He'd have to wait until after they landed, grab Jemma out of Coulson's hearing somewhere.

But after they landed, it was Coulson who grabbed him and started making impossible demands; it was several hours later when Trip was finally alone in a car with Jemma and Fitz, rushing back to the old watchtower, all of them praying that Mack might somehow have survived his fall and whatever weird mojo the city had put on him.

"Jemma," Trip said, not looking away from the road, "I need you to call Clint."

"Oh thank God, someone's talking sense," Fitz said from the back seat.

"Fitz, I promised to call him if we were out of our depth…" Jemma twisted around in her seat.

"Mack might be dead and we are going into an _alien city _with 1940's technology, if this isn't out of our depth I don't know what is! No offence to your grandpa's gear, Trip."

"None taken. Jemma, this isn't _about_ you and Clint. It's about Skye. Coulson ordered May not to talk about the city to outside parties so she wouldn't make the call, but I believe Steve deserves to know."

"Fitz and I are under the same orders," Jemma muttered, "because of Clint and Darcy."

"I'm not. So dial the number and give me the fucking phone."

"If you don't, I fucking will, but it might take me longer to get through," Fitz snapped, and Jemma gave in. She pulled out her phone, hit a speed-dial number and handed it over.

"Jemma?" Clint answered immediately.

"No but she's sitting next to me and she's perfectly fine, Agent J." Trip used the nickname so Clint would know there was no problem.

"That you, Trip? What are you doing with Jemma's phone?"

"She's under orders not to talk about what we're doing but I'm not." Trip parked the car and slung the bag he needed to carry over his shoulder. "I've got about four minutes before I have to go down a hole with no phone reception, so listen fucking good, Barton, and if you're not already recording this, start now."

Trip was fast and succinct, and before he'd been speaking for sixty seconds, Clint had hit the Avengers Assemble alarm and was racing to his quarters to get his suit and his bow. It was a really fucking bad day for it. Tony was in China and Thor was on Asgard, so they were down to the non-flying members of the team. And Sam, but he was short-range. They'd have to take the AvenJet, which while faster even than a quinjet would still take a couple of hours to get on site. And from what Trip said, they didn't have that long. He asked JARVIS to relay a message to Bruce to stay behind. One of them needed to mind the store, and Bruce was the only Avenger on site who wasn't emotionally involved in the situation.

"You fly," Clint said to Sam, who gave him an astonished look but went straight to the cockpit to start the launch sequence. "Strap in," he told the others, and as Sam got them in the air and headed to the destination Clint had already ordered JARVIS to enter into the computers, Clint looked Steve straight in the eye. "I got a call from Trip."

He'd told Trip to give the phone to Jemma before hanging up when Trip said he had to go. "I love you," he'd told her simply. "Stay safe. I'll be with you as soon as I can."

A choked "I love you too," had come back before the signal cut out.

Steve's hands clenched on the rim of his shield as Clint spoke, and his jaw slowly hardened. It was extremely difficult to tell that granite-hard expression that Ward had taken Skye.

Barnes put a hand on Steve's arm as Clint finished speaking. "We'll get her back." His blue eyes met Clint's in silent acknowledgement that they would end the threat Ward posed to Steve's happiness once and for all once they had.

Natasha's hands were clenched on the grips of her guns. "I'm gonna fucking kill Melinda," she muttered under her breath.

"She's under orders, Tash, they all are," Clint looked at his partner. "I don't doubt she didn't like any of it. Trip said Coulson ordered the Koenigs to activate the Theta Protocol if he didn't make it out."

"Huh," Natasha snorted. "Bit fucking late."

"What's the Theta Protocol?" Steve asked, bemused.

"It literally means, call Thor." Clint grinned at Steve's bemused face. "I don't know exactly what the call would say, but my guess is, something along the lines of 'this is too fucking big for us Earthlings, we need Asgardian help'."

"Fucking Coulson, why can't he just admit that WE might be able to help?" Natasha groused.

Clint shrugged. "I don't know, but reading between the lines, Coulson thinks he's expendable but the Avengers aren't. He didn't want to risk us."

"So he risked Skye instead. And Jemma. And Melinda." Steve's voice was cold and hard. "I am done with this shit. We're supposed to be a _joint venture_ with the new S.H.I.E.L.D., not treated like mushrooms!"

"Mushrooms…?" Barnes murmured.

"Kept in the dark and fed on shit," Clint translated, making Barnes grin and nod.

"You called Tony?" Natasha checked with Clint.

"JARVIS is on it, and with getting a message to Thor via Jane as soon as he gets back. If we get _really_ lucky, Heimdall's got eyes on and will have help there ahead of us. Thor and Sif and their badass buddies."

"Excuse me, sir," JARVIS interrupted the conversation. "I have relayed your messages to Dr Foster. Mr Stark is also aware but his ETA in San Juan is some sixteen minutes behind yours. Miss Lewis has, um, taken the news badly and expressed some displeasure at being left behind."

"Oh shit, _Fitz_," Clint muttered. Natasha made a face. "What'd she do, JARVIS?"

"Actually, sir, Miss Lewis is being quite proactive. She's currently standing on the roof of the Tower shouting at Heimdall."

"I've heard worse ideas," Clint said contemplatively after a moment. "Let us know if she receives any useful response, please, JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm gonna go relieve Sam and see if I can't cut another minute or two off our ETA. JARVIS, once Sam gets back here, replay the call from Trip, please."

Natasha came to sit beside Clint a few minutes later. He glanced across at her as she settled into the gunner's seat. "Doubt we'll be dogfighting."

"You forgot to tell JARVIS to cut the end off the call," she said quietly.

_Oh._

He concentrated on his instruments. "You knew how I felt about her already."

"It's not that, Clint. Steve broke down. He's frightened he won't get the chance to say the same thing to Skye, in the same way he never got his dance with Peggy, only this time it's Skye who's on a possible death ride."

JARVIS beeped just as Clint was thinking he had no fucking idea what to say to that. "Sir, there is an incoming call for you from Doctor Simmons' phone again…"

"Connect it. Jemma? Are you all right?"

**Next chapter, some little bits filling in from the team's POV during Episode 10. And we'll hear what was said in that incoming phone call. I'm going to put that one up in a couple of hours, so check back shortly!**


	45. What Do We Do?

**Chapter 45.**

**This is going to be a slightly odd, broken-up chapter. If you didn't see Episode 10, What They Become, it might not make a lot of sense. It basically adds to conversations that took place and fills in some things that took place 'off camera' in my AU. If you missed the episode or you want a refresher, I recommend you look for a recap – superherohype dot com's is pretty decent!**

**Scene 1**

**May and Coulson are running through the halls of the Ponce de Leon Theatre, shooting HYDRA agents. They are talking about what they could use in the way of backup and extra men. **

"You know what we could use right now?"

"Another fifty men?" May shot back irritably.

"I was thinking a dozen, but I like your idea better."

"Or some Avengers."

"We've had this conversation, May!"

"I still think you were wrong." She shot a HYDRA goon who popped up and nodded to Phil, who dashed across the hallway to check the next corner. "Just think how nice it would have been to send Clint, Nat and Steve in to clear this place for us!"

Phil didn't say anything for a moment. "What did you do, Melinda?" he asked finally.

"_I _did nothing. You ordered me not to." She stared him down. "I might, however, have not dissuaded Trip when he said he felt Steve ought to be informed about Skye and Ward." _Where the fuck are they?_ But then she didn't know when, or even if, Trip had been able to make the call. She should have given him her phone, with Nat's number in it. She wanted Nat by her side. Especially since that freaky brainwashed bitch wearing her face was running around.

"I'm going that way," she pointed along a corridor. "You go that way."

Phil raised his eyebrows at her giving him orders, but she _was_ the combat specialist. He headed down the stairs, gun at the ready.

**Scene 2**

**When the Doctor leaves Skye and Ward in the room together, both tied up. **

**(WARNING. If you like Ward, you will NOT like this).**

"I'll get you out of here, Skye," Grant tipped his chair over beside the dead agent, scrabbling for the knife in the agent's belt. "Just give me a moment. I won't make you go down in the tunnels if you don't want to, I can take you away if that's what you want."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, you fucking creep!"

"Don't be like that, Skye. I love you, you know that. Everything I've done, I've done for you."

"Ward," she said, slowly. He looked up at her, the knife between his fingers. "I don't love _you_. I will _never_ love you."

"Of course you do." He smiled, an insane, creepy smile. "I'm everybody's type. You've loved me from the beginning. You wanted me at Providence, at the Hub; you kissed me then."

"We all make stupid mistakes. You were one of those frogs I had to kiss before I found my prince."

He froze in the very act of cutting out of his cuffs. "What do you mean, _found your prince_?"

_Oh, shit_. He was so erratic, so unstable – would he kill her if she told him about Steve? _Fuck it_. She might be about to die here anyway. Skye lifted her chin bravely. "Yes, I have, and he's ten times the man you'll ever be."

Grant snorted, cutting himself loose. "Now I _know_ you're making it up." He came over and slashed her bonds. "Let me go first, Skye…" He headed for the door.

She ran for the body, snatched up the gun Ward had forgotten. He really _was_ insane. How the hell did he expect to get them out of there without the gun? She shot him. Four times. But – she couldn't kill him. Because he _had_ saved her life, more than once – and he was _mad_. Perhaps it would be kinder to put him out of his misery, but it was still a hard thing to kill someone who had once been your friend. She couldn't imagine how Coulson had blown Garrett away so calmly.

"Never turn your back on the enemy. _You_ taught me that." The shocked betrayal on his face made her take one final parting verbal shot. "And you're wrong. I wasn't making it up. My man _is_ ten times the man you are. He's Captain America." She ran.

Grant dropped his head against the wall, true agony coursing through him. The pain in his side was nothing compared to what Skye had just done to him. She'd cut out his heart.

_Captain America_. How could he compete with _that_?

He lay, lost in his own misery, for several minutes until Agent 33 turned up, grief all over May's damaged face. "Help me up. I can get us out of here," he lied to her. He had a kill to make first.

If _he_ couldn't have Skye, no one could.

**Scene 3. **

**When Trip goes back down the hole to defuse the bombs, leaving Jemma and Fitz in the watchtower.**

"Oh my God, no," Jemma clutched at Fitz. He clutched her back.

"What do we do?"

"I don't know!" she stared down the hole. "What if he – goes like Mack?"

"Mack wasn't down there," Fitz muttered. "His body should have been there."

"Zombie ants," Jemma said, and they shared a dark look.

"How long until the backup gets here?" Fitz asked.

Jemma looked at her watch. "Maybe another forty minutes? The Avenjet's faster than a quinjet, but I'm not sure by how much. Unless Tony Stark was there, or Thor, in which case they might be here quicker…"

"Iron Man wouldn't be much use down there, but what I wouldn't give for Thor to be here right now," Fitz said wistfully.

Jemma's phone rang, making her jump. "It's May," she looked at the screen. "Hello?"

"Jemma, what happened, Trip's phone cut out?"

"He went down to defuse the bombs – May, he wasn't in a suit!"

"Neither were Coulson or Skye," May said grimly, "or Raina." She hesitated. "Did Trip make a call for backup?"

"Yes, he called Clint, but not until we were on our way here." Jemma gulped. "I'm afraid they'll be too late."

May was silent for a long moment. And then she said "Hang in there, Jemma. Don't lose hope."

"Fuck this!" Fitz snatched the phone from Jemma's hand even as May hung up. He jabbed at the screen. "I'm calling Clint."

"Give that to me!" she snatched it back. But she didn't cut the connecting call.

"Jemma?" his deep voice said a moment later. "Are you all right?"

She burst into tears. Fitz snatched the phone back again. "Clint, we're all right but everything's going to hell in a handbasket. Mack's body's not where it should be and we don't know what's happened to him. Coulson and Skye are in the underground city and Raina's got the Obelisk…"

"Steady, Fitz," Clint's voice was calm and reassuring. "We're about thirty minutes out. JARVIS has your position from the phone signal, and May's too. Natasha's calling May now for her take."

Fitz took a deep breath, tightening his arm around Jemma's shaking shoulders. "Nothing technological works down there, Clint. We were working with clockwork and fucking flame torches."

"Good thing Steve and I prefer medieval tools then, isn't it?" Clint said, keeping his voice calm to try and keep Fitz steady. "We have Barnes and Sam with us too but we'll leave them topside. Are Hunter and Morse around?"

"With May."

"All right. Not long now, Fitz. Hang in there and take care of Jemma for me."

"Yes, Clint."

Clint cut the line, focussing on his instruments again. Hearing Jemma's terrified sobs in the background nearly broke him. He touched buttons, trying to coax another tiny fraction of speed from the jet.

"I'm coming, love," he whispered, eyes trained on the horizon. "I'm coming."

**Scene 4.**

**In the Temple chamber.**

She should have run. Should have fled Raina's crazy stare and the Obelisk floating into the air before settling on the pedestal. But – something there called to Skye. Held her frozen, staring at the strange symbols flaring in the air.

Her father was wrong, as well. He _wasn't_ the only one who would understand if she changed. _Steve_ had been changed, too. He'd never abandon her. He'd understand, help her through whatever happened.

Then Trip was there, running in, and she knew to her bones that this was _wrong_, that _he_ shouldn't be there. But it was too late, the chamber was sealed – and if she was truly honest, she was glad to have a friend by her side.

**DAT SHIT GOIN' **_**DOWN**_**.**

**Are the Avengers gonna get there in time to help?**

**Read on to find out… **


	46. Don't Die Down There

**Chapter 46.**

"_Shit_."

"Yeah, I know." Natasha checked her guns again. It was only the twentieth time since takeoff. Being helpless was driving her insane.

"No, no, not that." Clint gestured to his earpiece, where JARVIS was communicating with him. "On speaker, JARVIS – cockpit only. Repeat that, please."

"Sir, the National Earthquake Information Centre in Colorado is receiving early reports and seismic readings of a series of small quakes centred on San Juan, Puerto Rico. I am currently in the process of logging into all nearby seismographic monitoring centres to analyse the data."

Clint and Natasha shared a wondering look. "Hope Darcy gets through to Heimdall," Clint said after a moment, "because this really does sound like it might be beyond us Earthlings."

"Just get us there as fast as you can manage, Clint." Natasha rose from her seat. "And keep me updated, JARVIS." She picked up a spare earbug and put it in. "Just me and Clint for now."

"Give me an open circuit to the others," Clint said crisply, "we need to make some planning decisions."

Natasha pulled up maps on screen, overlaid with the data May had sent her once she'd finally convinced her stubborn girlfriend to talk. A quick conversation about the limits they would be operating under, and they had a plan.

Sam would take over piloting the jet, and he would drop Steve and Natasha at the Ponce de Leon. Natasha would stay topside, find May, Bobbi and Hunter and make damned sure there was no more HYDRA resistance to impede their exit, while Steve went down into the tunnels. Of them all, he was best equipped to operate at peak capacity without needing technology anyway.

Barnes and Clint would be dropped at the watchtower, and Barnes would secure the area and look after Fitz and Jemma while Clint went into the tunnels from the other end to try and find Trip – and perhaps Mack. He could use his quiver selector before he went below to arm arrowheads that would be most use, conventional contact chemical explosives and standard sharp tips. Barnes' arm was partly mechanical and partly electronic and would almost certainly be more hindrance than help underground.

Once he'd dropped them off, Sam would then co-ordinate above-ground operations from the air, stay in touch with Tony and JARVIS, and generally try to keep the whole world from falling on their heads.

"The NEIC is reporting repeating quakes averaging around Richter 2.6, sir," JARVIS reported, in Clint and Natasha's ears only. "No major structural damage has been reported as yet. The quakes are unusual in that they are occurring at regular intervals of around every 3 minutes."

"Four minutes to first drop," was all Clint said over the open com, but he and Natasha shared very concerned looks. Who knew what quakes like that could be doing to an ancient city buried underground, and partly under the sea? One crack and the whole place would be underwater.

Sam came to take over piloting, and Clint moved into the back and grabbed Boudicca and his quiver, cycling quickly through options to preload all his arrowheads. The selector itself likely wouldn't work underground, and neither would his laser sight, not that he needed it. He snapped on his arm guards and a pair of rappelling gloves.

"Sixty seconds," Sam said, and Natasha came to stand by Steve as they felt the Avenjet dropping lower. Steve was almost vibrating with tension as he slipped his shield onto his back.

"I'll see you underground," Clint handed Steve a paper printout of the map JARVIS had produced and a handful of chemlights – at least _they'd_ work. "Don't be reckless."

"Not with Skye down there." Steve's eyes were focussed, intent.

Clint exchanged a glance with Natasha. She gave him one of her half-smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and then it was time to drop. Clint and James grabbed onto straps as Steve and Natasha jumped, only Nat bothering with a parachute.

Steve landed ahead of Natasha, dropping onto the roof of the building, throwing his shield up and waiting for the gunfire. When none came, he lowered it cautiously. The building tremored under his feet suddenly, shockingly, a few roof tiles sliding down to smash on the pavement far below.

"_Rogers_?" a feminine voice said in astonishment. He whirled.

"Oh. Agent Morse." He'd worked with her briefly – _very_ briefly – back when S.H.I.E.L.D. was still a proper organisation, under Director Fury. Before the Avengers even, come to think of it. Beautiful and clever, she'd asked a lot of probing questions before he'd wearied of it and asked Fury to take her off his case. She stood staring at him now, her long blonde hair falling around her shoulders, dressed in combat gear, her favoured stun batons in her hands.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?"

He considered and discarded a number of options. In the end, he settled for the simple truth. "I'm here for Skye."

Morse looked surprised, and Steve wondered at the lack of trust within Coulson's team, that she apparently didn't know about him and Skye.

A slightly shorter man stepped out of the doorway behind Morse, running a comprehensive glance over Steve. In the hard eyes and short-shaven hair, Steve recognised a professional soldier. This must be Lance Hunter, Morse's ex-husband and Clint's former friend, confirmed a moment later when the man spoke in a distinct English accent.

"Then you'd better come this way, Uncle Sam."

"Wait," he jerked a thumb upwards and they both looked up. Natasha landed beside Steve less than fifteen seconds later, cutting neatly free from her parachute and striding forward.

"Area clear?" she addressed Hunter, not bothering with Morse, who gave her a venomous glare.

"Yes, ma'am."

Well, apparently Hunter was no fool. He showed Natasha the respect she deserved.

"Let's go, then."

"Where's Barton?" Morse asked, and Natasha tensed.

"Not that it's any of your fucking business, Bobbi, but he went to secure the other end of the tunnels, and to go in after _his friends_."

Hunter was glaring at Morse. And then Natasha seemed to lose her temper with both of them. She strode up to Bobbi and gave her a slap across the face hard enough to send the taller woman reeling.

"This isn't the time or the place, you silly bitch. But _stop_ using Clint to take out your fucking insecurities on. If you'd paid attention to your own fucking marriage in the first place _none_ of your so-called problems would even exist. I'm tired of your bullshit, and if you do _one_ more thing to risk Clint's relationship with Jemma – I _will_ kill you." And she stormed past Morse into the building, checking her phone for May's location, not looking back.

Stunned, Steve went after Natasha. _She_ had her priorities straight, at least. Behind him, he could hear Hunter and Morse talking, almost shouting at each other as they followed.

"What the fuck, Bob? What did she mean?"

"Not now, Lance!"

"_Yes_ the fuck now. What have you been doing with Jemma?"

"Nothing! _You_ flirted with her."

"I was only interested in finding out how serious she is about Clint. She's clearly crazy in love with him. What's going _on_?"

"I was jealous of you flirting with her," Bobbi confessed.

"_What?_ You're _not_ serious."

"Of course I'm fucking serious, Lance, you never put me first."

"Bob, I fucking _always_ put you first! I left the SAS when you asked me to, I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. for you… _you_ were the one who took that undercover assignment and left without a fucking word; next thing I heard Coulson was calling to tell me you'd taken a hit of sex pollen and fucked my best friend!"

_Ouch_. Steve winced.

"You didn't want me afterwards," Bobbi sounded like she was crying. "I didn't even remember doing it and you didn't _want_ me."

"I thought you wanted _him_," Hunter's voice was low and hard.

"I _didn't_, and _he_ didn't want me anyway…"

Natasha stopped in her jog down a flight of stairs, and Steve caught up with her. He gave her a quizzical look, but she looked past him, at Hunter and Morse following them. Tears were indeed running down Bobbi Morse's beautiful face.

"The only thing Clint ever told me about it is that you cried and begged for Lance all night," Natasha said quietly. "Which he would have told either or both of you stupid idiots if you'd ever have fucking let him. He blindfolded you and mimicked Lance's accent because he couldn't save you otherwise, Bobbi. You couldn't come until he did."

Both of them looked shocked. Natasha shook her head and started running down the stairs again.

"Fucking idiots and their bad timing," she muttered.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Bobbi sobbed at Hunter.

"Later," was all he could say, stunned and unable to deal right now.

"I thought Jemma said Clint couldn't do an English accent?" Steve caught up with Natasha.

"Won't. Not can't." They reached the basement at last, and Natasha saw May, standing over a hole with a petrified look on her face.

"Nat, oh thank God you're here," Melinda didn't leave her post, but the look she gave Natasha said it all.

"You fucking idiot," Natasha enfolded her girlfriend in her arms. "Why didn't you call?"

"I'm deputy director," May hung her head. "It wasn't my place to defy Coulson's orders."

"Down there?" Steve grabbed hold of the two women, perilously close to the hole, as the ground started shaking again.

"Yes. It's been too long." There were tears on May's face, Steve saw with surprise. But then he had the impression that Skye was like a daughter to her, her team were her family. "I think – I don't know. I think they're all dead."

"Not if I can help it." And Steve jumped into the hole.

"Jesus!" And then Hunter strode forward, picking up the cable. "Let me down, May."

"Lance, _no_!" Bobbi ran towards him, grabbing his arm. "Don't go down there!"

He took her face firmly in his rough hands and gave her one long, hard kiss. "Clint's down there. And from the sounds of things, I owe him _your_ life. So I'm gonna go get him and our team and we're all going home. Now pull yourself the fuck together and let me down."

"I love you," she sobbed, grabbing the winch.

"I love you too."

"Don't die down there."

The last thing she saw was his face, looking up at her out of the darkness, and then he gave her his twisty grin. "I'm too fucking stubborn to die, darlin'. Back soon."

**So – maybe Bobbi's not so bad after all, hmm? Now let's find out what's happening at Clint's end of the tunnels…**

… **well, in a couple of hours, when I plan to post the next chapter, anyway.**


	47. We'll Get Them Out

**Chapter 47.**

"Hang on tight," Sam said, banking hard as soon as Steve and Natasha had jumped. "Twelve seconds to drop…" they were going even lower, he planned to pull into a hover right over the watchtower so Clint and James could rappel down. "See you soon!" he yelled as they leaped, ropes zipping through their hands.

"Clear!" James yelled, looking around. He had a sub-machine gun in hand and a wide selection of other weapons strapped on him, probably the most heavily armed of them all. Clint had no fears about trusting him to take care of Jemma and Fitz. It would take an army to take down the Winter Soldier to get to them.

"Jemma!" Clint raced in through the watchtower door and saw her at once, she and Fitz clinging to each other, both their faces terrified at the repeated shaking of the earth.

"Clint!" Both of them clutched at him, and he couldn't help but grin slightly, despite the dire situation, as Fitz sought comfort in his presence as well. He appeared to have gained Fitz as a little brother somewhere along the way.

"We're here, I got you," he told both of them, pressing his lips to Jemma's brow. She was shivering with fright. "James is with me. He's gonna guard you while I go down into the city, get you out of here if it comes to that."

"No!" Jemma cried out. "Clint, you can't!"

"I must," he said gently, detaching her arms from around him. "Steve's gone into the other entry. We'll find them, Jemma, we'll get them out."

"Clint!" she screamed again, and he nodded over her shoulder. Barnes' metal arm curled inexorably around her waist and held her back as Clint grabbed the line and jumped down into the hole in the floor.

Jemma collapsed to her knees with a wail when Barnes let her go, peering down into the hole, but it was utterly black down there.

"It's not safe in here," James said curtly as another quake began. "You two need to be outside." Looking at Jemma, he pulled a gun and offered it to Fitz.

"She won't leave." Fitz shook his head, taking out his own gun, the one he'd threatened to shoot Mack with. His hands were steady.

"She will." Barnes' voice was flat and cold, and he used his metal arm again to scoop Jemma up. She fought him, screaming and flailing. "Stop, Doctor Simmons, or I'll knock you unconscious. You do Clint no favours by acting irrationally."

His flat, cold voice broke through to Jemma and she stopped fighting, letting him drag her outside. He didn't try to force them further away, though, telling Fitz to stay with Jemma on the seaward side of the watchtower while he waited in the doorway.

"Tell me if the sea starts pulling back," James told Fitz.

"You're thinking tsunami?" Fitz paled even further.

"It's possible. We're right at the epicentre of these quakes. If it does, tell me and book it up there. It's a nice high cliff." James pointed up.

Fitz held onto Jemma, clutching her close, his gun clenched impotently in his other hand. He would really, _really_ like an enemy to shoot at right now.

Clint ran through the tunnels on silent feet, heading directly for the temple. The quakes were even more pronounced down here, almost knocking him off his feet once, but he stayed steady, checking the map occasionally with his glowstick, calling for Skye, Coulson, Mack, Trip and Steve regularly.

He found Coulson and Mack first. Mack was unconscious and Coulson not far from it, bleeding heavily and apparently badly beaten. His eyes widened as he saw Clint bending over him.

"Barton?" he choked out.

"Time to go, Coulson." At least he could get the Director out. They were not far from the shaft down from the Ponce de Leon. He slung Boudicca over his shoulder.

"Skye…"

"Steve's on his way for her." _Steve should be here by now_… as though the thought had conjured him up, Steve rounded the corner. His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him.

"Steve," Coulson said, sounding deeply relieved. "That way." He pointed a trembling finger.

"You got this under control?" Steve checked.

"Can't carry Mack alone, he's too heavy…"

"That's all right," another voice said, and Clint's eyes widened in surprise. "I'll help."

"Lance."

"Clint." Hunter's smile was tight. Another quake almost knocked him off his feet, but he moved forward as Steve ran in the direction Coulson had indicated.

"Let's get the Director out first."

"I can walk, if you help me up," Coulson said. "You two carry Mack."

Clint exchanged a doubtful look with Hunter, but they helped Phil up and he did indeed stay on his feet, although he swayed badly, as the two of them hauled Mack up, Clint taking his shoulders and Hunter his legs.

"Who's topside?" Clint asked as they reached the bottom of the shaft.

"The girls. May, Bob and Nat. Or Coulson's Angels, as I'm thinking of calling them."

Phil grinned wearily as Hunter strapped him to the cable and yanked hard on it three times. "Don't ever let them hear that."

"Why do you think I'm only saying it when the coms don't work?" Hunter gave him a lopsided grin as the cable pulled taut and Phil slowly started ascending the shaft.

"You or me?" Hunter turned to Clint once Phil was out of sight, gesturing to Mack's prone body.

"You."

"How did I know you'd say that?"

"The fact that you're talking to me means you and Bobbi have worked out at least some of your differences. Don't fuck it up by being a jealous prick this time, Lance." Clint looked up the shaft, willing May and Nat to hurry it up and get the cable back down so he could go after Steve.

"You never did touch her other than the sex pollen thing, did you?"

"Never." Clint gave him a long, direct look, and it was Hunter who dropped his eyes first.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"I understand why you didn't." The cable came dropping back down and Clint grabbed it, securing it around Mack's waist. "Put your legs around his chest and support his head with your hands: you need to keep him upright or he's gonna smack his head on the edge of the shaft, could kill him."

"Don't die down here."

Clint gave his old friend a true smile. "_You_ don't die up _there_. And – if I _don't_ come out…"

"Look out for Jemma? I promise." Lance tugged hard on the cable. "Go, Clint. I got this."

He didn't look back. Just ran back into the tunnels, unslinging Boudicca once more, fitting an arrow to the string. "Steve! Skye!" he yelled.

"Clint!" Steve's deep voice came back, and he ran in its direction, finding Steve smashing at a solid stone wall with his shield.

"What the…"

"It's some sort of chamber, but there's no way in!"

"Stand back." Clint pulled a chemical explosive arrow. "This will explode on contact. Make a weak spot."

Steve wouldn't back up far, only about ten feet. Clint shrugged, picked a spot where Steve's shield had chipped a dent in the stone, and fired, shutting his eyes against the flash and boom. When he opened them, coughing slightly in the dust, Steve was smashing against a considerably larger dent in the stone. Which gave way, crumbling inwards, making a crude hole. Steve scrambled through, knocking away more stone as he went, and Clint was right on his heels.

"Skye?" Steve said wonderingly.

She was floating in mid-air, her hands reaching out to one side, the expression on her face pure anguish. Both Steve and Clint turned to look at what she was staring at, but saw only a crumbled pile of ash.

And then there was a feral scream and _something_ jumped Steve, knocking him flying – which was some feat, considering his size. The – animal? – scratched and hissed at him, and Clint let fly an arrow without even thinking. It plunged directly into one yellow eye.

The _thing_ screamed again, plucked the arrow out and flung it down, and went straight out the hole in the wall. It was roughly humanoid, Clint saw, two legs and two arms, but the rest – well.

Steve struggled to his feet. "Skye," he said hoarsely, and for the first time she seemed to become aware of them, turning her gaze his way.

"Steve?" she said uncertainly. "Steve, you're here!" She dropped suddenly to the ground, falling to her knees, and he was at her side in a moment.

"What happened?" he asked, stunned.

"Trip," she gestured at the pile of ash, tears falling from her dark eyes. "He tried to help me. Kicked at the crystal…"

"Yeah, that was one of my more fucking stupid ideas," Trip's voice said.

Skye screamed. The earth tremored violently.

Clint whirled, looking around. "What the actual fuck?"

"I think it hit me. My stomach hurts."

"Trip, where _are_ you?" Clint couldn't see him anywhere. But from the sound of his voice, he had to be in the chamber.

"Right here – oh, fuck me." There was a vague shimmering in the air above the ash pile. "Uh, I think I'm invisible?"

Skye fainted into Steve's arms. He hoisted her up, shaking his head. "Right. Well, now I've really seen everything. Invisibility. What next?"

Clint and Steve looked at each other. "Later," Clint told Steve. "Just fucking later. Right now we're getting the fuck out of here."

"Who all else is down here?" Invisible Trip demanded.

"You two are it, and now we're fucking leaving. Are you hurt, Trip?"

"Yes, I think so, my stomach hurts, and there's wet on my hand when I touch it. I can't see it, though."

"Can you walk? Because it's going to be kinda difficult to carry an invisible dude."

"I'll fucking walk out of here!"

The earth tremors had stopped as soon as Skye fainted, and there were no more as Steve carried her to the exit shaft. Clint eyed her consideringly. If it had been Raina, Trip and Skye in that chamber, Raina had turned into the feral _thing_, Trip was invisible, and Skye – what had Skye become?

"Shit," he said then, "Raina."

"Crazy fucking bitch," Invisible Trip said. "She turned into this monstrous, yellow-eyed _thing_…"

"Yes, but she's down here somewhere and she's dangerous. If she goes up the other hole, Jemma and Fitz are there…"

"With Bucky. He'll look after them," Steve said confidently.

"I need to go topside first to make the call," Clint said apologetically.

"Go. Take Skye. I'll wait here with the invisible dude I haven't met yet. Nice to meet you, Trip."

"An honour to meet _you_, sir. My grandfather was a Howling Commando…"

Skye, even unconscious dead weight, wasn't heavy. Clint supported her easily in one arm as the cable drew him steadily up. At the top, he found Hunter operating the winch while the three women worked over Coulson and the still-unconscious Mack.

"She all right?" Hunter asked, nodding as Clint gestured at him to drop the cable back down.

"Just fainted, I think." Clint laid Skye on the floor well away from the hole, put his com in his ear and called Barnes. "James? Anything happening over there?"

"All quiet," the reassuring word came back.

"Good. There's something feral and fucking scary down there. Blow the shaft and get out. Call Sam in to pick you up."

"Copy that. I've got some grenades…"

Clint didn't bother to listen to the rest, just turned to brief Hunter. "Trip's alive, but something freaky happened. He's invisible. And wounded."

Hunter's mouth fell open. "Invisible."

"Don't even go there."

"Did you say Trip is _invisible_?" May had come rushing over to check on Skye.

"Yes, and he's wounded, and I don't know how we're going to treat him because we can't see him, and _he_ can't see him."

They were all staring at him, open-mouthed. He spread his hands. "Don't ask me. I'm just telling it like it is."

And then a very welcome sound came over the coms_. I was shaking at the knees, Could I come again please, Thunderstruck…You've been, Thunderstruck…_

"What's hanging?" Tony said cheerfully over the music.

Hunter was reeling the cable up. He grinned. "Iron Man?"

"Let's get this party started…"

"Don't go down any holes!" Clint yelled, having sudden visions of Tony diving down a shaft and the suit failing half-way down. They'd have to scrape him up with a spatula.

"I'm not keen on dark holes in the ground, Hawk. Uh – did you know that crazy shit is happening in the sky?"

Clint looked at the cable which had just reached the surface and the vague shimmer in the air he recognised as Invisible Trip stepping off it.

"It's just been that sort of fucking day," he sighed.

**Poor Clint. He really is just having that kind of day, isn't it?**

**And YES, in my world Trip is NOT DEAD.**

**NOTDEADNOTDEADNOTDEAD… entertainingly invisible, though. Did that make you smile?**


	48. Night Night, Sunshine

**Chapter 48.**

"I've got Jemma, Fitz and Barnes," Sam said over the com, "on my way to collect you lot – I reckon I can set the jet down in the courtyard if Tony and the medieval reenactors get out of the way…"

"That sounds like the Asgardians came to the party," Natasha said, relief clear in her voice.

"The Koenigs weren't supposed to activate the Theta Protocol yet," Coulson said weakly.

"Don't be a fucking idiot, you think you're the only one who can call Thor?" she said scathingly, slapping another bandage on one of his cuts. "Just shut up, Phil. Melinda's been telling me all about your entertainingly bad decisions over the last couple of weeks. And longer, indeed. You really didn't think that we – that _Thor_, especially – ought to know about the Kree and the city? That Thor might have been able to give you some pertinent information? Or that Tony couldn't have hacked those satellites for you instead of you gallivanting off to Australia and getting Trip nearly killed? Idiot."

Hunter was letting the cable down one more time for Steve. May stood looking uncertainly at the shimmer in the air. "Trip, are you okay?"

"Apart from the being invisible thing?" Trip's voice sounded stressed. "Not brilliant. There's something in my stomach and I'm fairly sure I'm bleeding pretty heavily." Indeed, there were bright drops of blood spattering on the floor, looking extremely bizarre materialising in mid-air as they fell.

"I – don't know how to treat something I can't see," May exchanged a desperate look with Clint.

"Tony might be able to see it through his visor," Clint realised suddenly. "Infra-red or something? Trip – look, I think you'd better lie down. And I want you to take May's hand and hold it. That way even if you pass out we'll know where you are."

It was really bizarre to see May's hand lift up in mid-air without her controlling it, but she managed not to go bug-eyed. "Okay, Trip, I can _feel_ you at least. Let's get you lying down."

"I don't think anyone should touch whatever this thing is in my stomach without gloves," Trip told her weakly as she managed to guide him to the floor. He didn't mention that she accidentally grabbed his ass on the way down. "It's turned me invisible, after all."

Tony arrived in the chamber a minute later, and he wasn't alone. Two figures came in behind him. Clint recognised them both, though he'd never spoken to them. He saw them once in New Mexico, what felt like a whole lifetime ago. One was a tall woman in silver armour with raven-black hair tumbling over her shoulders, the other an even taller man, a handsome blond with a short goatee beard and a cheerful smile.

"Son of Coul?" Sif looked around, and then she spotted Phil. "You are wounded!" she knelt beside him.

The blond looked around and his eyes lit on Clint, and Boudicca sticking up above his shoulder. "You must be Eyes of Hawk," he strode forward. "I am Fandral."

"No Thor?" Clint said, slightly disappointed, as he shook Fandral's hand.

"He is on Alfheimr right now and cannot be quickly reached. Heimdall sent myself, Hogun and the Lady Sif to your aid. Hogun has gone to the other shaft to close it. I must close this one…" he held out a ball-shaped thing with a yellow glow to it.

"Wait, Steve's still on the way up!"

With the super-strong Asgardians on hand, the logistics of carrying out the wounded and unconscious became markedly easier. Fandral picked up Mack without even blinking, and Sif gathered Coulson up almost tenderly, cradling him to her in a way that made eyebrows around the room raise interestedly. Tony picked Skye up in his armoured arms, obnoxiously announcing that he only carried beautiful women if he could possibly help it, which left Steve to manage Invisible Trip, with May's help. They trailed out with Natasha and Clint taking point, armed and looking for trouble, Hunter guarding the rear.

Sam had indeed landed the Avenjet in the courtyard, and Clint could see Barnes having to hold Jemma inside to stop her sprinting for them. He gestured firmly for her to stay where she was, turning to urge Bobbi to go first. She was still worrying over Mack, who was hanging limply in Fandral's arms. Fandral had rather casually tossed his yellow glowing ball into the shaft just as they left, and then said,

"Oh. We have five minutes to get clear…"

"Everyone in!" Clint shouted, waving Natasha in after Fandral and Bobbi. Sif strode past him next, her beautiful face anxious. Hunter followed, Tony clanking behind him… and there was a clang and a spark on Tony's chest.

"Shot!" Tony yelled. "SNIPER!" he hunched forward over Skye, activating his boots and zooming forward into the jet.

Clint's mind was already whirring, calculating trajectories, when he saw a flash in a distant window. He raised Boudicca and loosed an arrow, starting to run. "Has to be Ward!"

Steve let out a grunt and Clint glanced back to see him stagger back into May. Shot. _Fuck_…

"Go! Get him!" Steve shouted, moving towards the jet again as Hunter shoved him and May forward, and the next moment Barnes and Natasha were racing back out, weapons drawn, to join Clint.

"Where?" Barnes shouted.

"Go, fucking _go_!" Clint yelled over his com at Sam, who acknowledged and lifted off, the ramp closing automatically.

"No, Tony, stay with them, we need you to scan Trip!" Natasha yelled as she heard Tony order JARVIS to open the ramp again. "We got this!"

"Long-range rifle, has to be over four hundred metres, didn't hear it," Clint snapped as he ran, the other two sprinting after him. "I took a shot where he had to be, but I'm not sure…"

They covered the distance to the building where Clint was certain he'd seen the flash of the second shot, the one which had hit Steve, in record time. One punch from Barnes' fist had the door spinning off its hinges, and they pelted up the stairs inside. Shots spat out, and Clint and Natasha let Barnes go first, deflecting them off his arm.

"May?" they heard Barnes' startled voice, and Natasha sprang forward.

"That's not May! Fucking bitch, how dare you steal her face…"

"Let Nat deal with her," Clint grabbed James' arm as the other man stared incredulously at the two women going at it, fists and feet flying. "She's got a score to settle. Come on, we need to find Ward."

"He tried to kill Skye, didn't he?" James said in a low voice as they ascended another flight of stairs.

"Yeah, and then Steve. He must be wounded, it's not like Ward to miss. He's a pretty good sniper."

"Better than you ever were, Barton!" a voice yelled above them.

"Pretty fucking delusional too."

James actually laughed. "What's the plan?"

Clint bared his teeth. "He tried to kill Jemma, not long ago. I have a bone to pick with him over that."

"Looks like he's over Skye now too. About two inches lower and that round would have gone through her head."

"He can't have her!" Ward's voice was a hysterical shriek. "She's _mine_!"

"She's _Steve's_," James' voice was quite calm. They could see into the room at the top of the stairs now. See the sniper rifle on the floor. Clint's brow furrowed, and then James turned to him with a grin.

"Fuck me, Hawkeye, you really are that good." He gestured forward.

Clint moved up another step and saw what the slightly taller man had already seen. Ward on the ground, writhing in pain. With an arrow right through the palm of his right hand.

_Wow, that really was a lucky shot_. Aloud Clint said "_I _never miss."

"Bastard," Ward glared at him.

"Do we need him alive?" James asked disinterestedly, walking across the room to Ward, kicking away the knife he tried to lift with his left hand and standing on his wrist almost casually.

Clint looked at the younger man, an agent he'd once respected, treated as an equal. A madman who'd just tried to kill two friends of his, who had once nearly killed Fitz and Jemma, who _had_ killed Victoria Hand and Eric Koenig, and caused the deaths of countless other agents he respected. "No. No, James, we don't need him alive."

"Good. Because leaving him alive threatens Steve's happiness, and I'm not prepared to let that stand." James stooped, set both hands on the sides of Ward's head, and looked into his eyes. "Night night, sunshine."

There was a nasty crunch, and Clint winced and looked away, even as a scream sounded from downstairs. "Nat, you all right?" he said into his com.

"All good," she said calmly, coming out onto the lower landing, blood dripping from a knife in her hand. "We done here?"

"We're done."

**Okay, so that was a bit nasty. And I'm sorry to any Ward lovers out there. But as far as I'm concerned? He's fucking fruit loop and deserves exactly what Bucky just gave him. I tried to make it quick and non-graphic, and to keep the rest of the chapter pretty light.**

**And I'm sorry to those of you who wanted to see Steve beat the crap out of Ward. But Steve already made him suffer unimaginably by taking Skye from him. Any more is just gratuitous IMHO, because I never planned for Ward to survive this. As Bucky said, leaving him alive threatens Steve and Skye's happiness, and Bucky would NEVER let that happen.**


	49. You Did Him A Kindness

**Chapter 49.**

Bobbi picked them up a few minutes later in the S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet. Everyone but Sam had transferred to the Bus, in order to use the better medical facilities on board. Sam was flying the Avenjet back and would see them in New York. Bobbi docked them on the Bus a few minutes after that, and grabbed Clint's arm when he headed for the ladder to follow James and Natasha down.

"Clint?"

He flinched back from her instinctively, and then saw the look on her face. "What is it, Bobbi?"

"I'm sorry. For everything." She ducked her head. "I didn't understand. Natasha told me about – that you had to pretend to be Lance. Told _us_."

"Ah." He considered her for a minute. "Then you know why the very thought of a repeat performance made me feel sick."

"Yes, and I'm _really_ sorry. I blamed you for my own stuff-ups. It was my own stupid mistake that got me into the situation in the first place, and I let Lance think – well, it doesn't matter, that's between me and him. The point is, I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I tried to mess with Jemma's head. She's a sweet girl and you deserve each other. I hope you'll be happy together, I truly do."

For a long moment they stared at each other, and then Clint said, "Don't fuck it up this time, Bobbi. Lance doesn't deserve that."

"I won't. I promise."

Clint found Jemma in the medical bay. Wearing the Iron Man helmet and apparently operating on Invisible Trip, Fitz acting as her anaesthetist. It was quite a sight, watching her carefully working with scalpel and forceps on apparently nothing. Tony was watching in fascination through the sealed door. He'd removed the rest of his armour.

And then Jemma dropped something into a metal tray beside her and Trip was suddenly back, blood smeared all over his stomach, but _visible_ once again.

Clint knew better than to interrupt as Jemma took off the helmet and started sewing Trip up. He turned away and went to look for the rest of the team.

Sif was hovering over Coulson, who was at least conscious and appeared to have had all his wounds treated. And not to be in the least objecting to Sif's fussing, so Clint moved on.

The best news was that Mack was conscious. Hunter was sitting with him, filling in a very dazed-looking Mack on everything that had happened.

"He doesn't look like he'll remember any of what you're saying later," Clint gestured at Mack.

"So what else is new?" Hunter grinned at him. "Did you kill Ward?"

"Barnes did. And Nat got the freaky fake May."

"Good." Hunter nodded at Clint, both of them silently acknowledging that what had been done was ugly but necessary.

Bobbi came in then, stooping to hug Mack tightly before sitting down by Hunter, taking his hand and leaning her head against his shoulder. Mack looked at the pair of them, and then at Clint.

"Well," Mack said on a deep sigh, "it's _about_ time."

That left only Steve and Skye to check on, since Clint assumed May was flying the Bus and Sif had told him Fandral had gone back to get Hogun and then directly to Asgard. The Koenigs, in the command centre, pointed him forward and he finally found them in Skye's sleeping cubicle. The door was open, Steve sitting on the bed, Skye's head in his lap as he stroked her hair.

Clint leaned in the doorway and looked at them, suddenly becoming aware of just how tired he felt. The adrenaline had been pumping ever since Trip's first call, and now it was over he could barely stand. All he wanted was to hold Jemma and sleep for a week. But first things first.

"How's the bullet wound?"

"Already healed over." Steve didn't even look up. "I dug it out, it's fine." There was nothing to see but a small, dark-edged hole in the shoulder of his uniform. Clint shook his head incredulously. A high-powered rifle round at that range would have left no shoulder behind at all on any other man. Incredible. He looked at Steve's hand caressing gently over Skye's hair.

"Is she all right?" Clint asked quietly.

Steve looked up. Clint didn't think he'd ever seen Rogers look so exhausted, not even after the Battle of New York, or the Triskelion – not ever.

"She woke up for a moment when we were transferring to the Bus, and the ground started shaking again."

"I wondered," Clint said with a sigh. "_Something_ happened in that chamber. Something changed in all of them."

"I don't care," Steve said. "I don't. _I'm_ not the same as I used to be. I'll stand by her. No matter what."

"That's good. But I think we should have a conversation with Coulson and May – and probably Tony – about keeping Skye off the ground until she's fully awake and has a handle on whatever this is."

"Can I leave that to you?" Steve looked up at him with pleading eyes. "I don't want to leave her."

Clint sighed, nodded, and pushed off the doorframe. "Yeah. I'll take care of it."

_Just one more thing on this crazy fucking day…_

… _oh, it can wait_.

Jemma came running towards him, her face alight with joy, and he stepped forward and swung her up into his arms, kissing her thoroughly, uncaring that Steve could see them, and that Barnes was walking along the passageway too, grinning. And then she pulled back, hauled off and slapped him.

"What the fuck?" Clint gasped, hand to his reddening cheek. Damn, Jemma had quite an arm on her.

"Twice!" she shouted at him. "Not once but _twice_ today you've forced me to stay behind while you ran off into danger, don't you ever dare do that to me again, Clinton Francis Barton!" She glared at him, and then stormed into Skye's cubicle. "Steven. Show me your wound."

"You are so in the doghouse," James said, grinning at Clint.

"Shut up. Jemma," he would have entered the cubicle, but there really wasn't room for another person in there. "If anyone's got the right to be aggrieved, it's me. You promised to call me if you felt your team were out of their depth. Why was it Trip I had to hear it from? Don't you think Steve deserved to know that Ward had taken Skye?"

Jemma had taken one look at the already healed-wound on Steve's shoulder, shaken her head and bent over Skye, putting cool hands to her brow. Skye roused, her eyes opening, just as Clint mentioned Ward's name.

Everyone went rigid. Jemma turned to face Clint, staring him down. "Don't _ever_ mention his name in front of Skye again."

"He's dead," it was James who said it bluntly, flatly. "I killed him."

"You what?" Steve blinked in astonishment.

"He tried to kill both you and Skye, punk. Leaving him alive risked your happiness, not to mention your lives. I wasn't prepared to let that happen."

"You did him a kindness," a calm voice said behind Clint and James, and they both whirled, reaching for weapons, unused to having people able sneak up on them. It was Sif, her stormy grey eyes cool and approving as she watched them. She looked into the cubicle, at Jemma staring white-faced, at Skye struggling to sit up. "I am sorry for your loss. I know Ward was once your friend, and I hoped it would be otherwise, but there is no man who has ever fully recovered from having their will stolen by Lorelei the Seductress, not for so long a time as she had Ward under her thrall."

A little stunned, Jemma and Skye took a moment to process that. "Fitz?" Jemma asked suddenly, remembering that Lorelei had taken his mind over as well.

"She held him only briefly, and did not use her touch to enthral him completely. He is free of her power." Sif gave her a reassuring smile, but her eyes slid back to Skye.

"Lorelei drove him mad?" Skye asked in a small voice.

"She did. Son of Coul has told me of Grant Ward's early life, his unstable background. What Lorelei did to him cracked his already-fragile mind like an eggshell. He could never have recovered. I regret deeply that his obsession focussed on you and led to such an end, little sister." Sif moved Jemma aside gently and faced Skye. "He will trouble you no more."

"He's really dead?" Jemma looked at James pleadingly. "You're sure? He's not going to come back like some horrible movie villain…"

"Jemma, he's really, definitely dead," Clint answered, not wanting to make James tell them what he'd done. That _crunch_ would be reverberating in Clint's ears for a while yet.

For a long moment Jemma just stared. And then she threw her arms around James' neck and said;

"_Thank you_."

Clint's mouth dropped open and he glared jealously. A quite clearly horrified James hastily detached himself from Jemma's grip, said "I'm just gonna, uh, check on, uh – Tasha!" and fled.

Sif arched her eyebrows, a small smile touching her lips as she saw Clint's expression, the possessive way he reached for Jemma, pulling her into his arms. "You have won the heart of Eyes of Hawk, Doctor Jemma?" she placed one hand over her heart and bowed slightly. "Thor has told many tales of his courage. You are fortunate indeed to have the regard of such a warrior."

A little surprised at Sif's deeply respectful tone, Jemma smiled back at the Asgardian. "Yes. Yes, I am." She hugged Clint tightly before leaning back reluctantly. "I really need to check on Skye," she told him.

"That is why I am here. Heimdall saw that the Terrigen Device activated and affected the Lady Skye, the warrior called Trip and one other, who is beyond our help now."

_Raina_. Clint nodded, glancing at Steve. "As far as I know, she's still down in the tunnels."

"Trip died," Skye said softly. "He tried to help me and he _died_…"

"No, he didn't!" they all said in unison.

"What?"

Sif smiled, going to one knee beside Skye's bed. "He was fortunate, Lady Skye. He _should_ have died, the mist released by the Device should have killed him, but when he struck the crystal to try and save you, a shard of it lodged in his skin and inflicted a change upon him."

"He turned invisible," Steve explained gently to Skye.

"Yes, he was wounded and invisible, but fortunately I was able to use the Iron Man helmet to find the shard in his stomach using a gamma radiation scanner – and I am going to have to have a conversation with Dr Banner about that," Jemma glanced at Clint, "and Trip turned visible again when I pulled it out."

"He will be able to control the ability at will, with practice," Sif informed them. "As you will _your_ abilities, Lady Skye. Until then, I have a gift for you." From a pouch at her waist, she produced a silver chain, a tiny, glittering blue crystal dangling from it. Skye flinched away from the crystal, reminded too much of the Obelisk and what had been inside it.

"This is not one of the Kree crystals, Lady Skye," Sif reassured her. "It is an _anti_-crystal – Lady Frigga created them to aid those who were exposed. Warrior Trip does not need one, but I believe that you do, at least until you have your powers under your conscious control."

Steve took the chain from Sif's hand when Skye made no move to touch it. "Thank you, Lady Sif," he said, opening the catch on the chain and putting it around Skye's neck.

"There will always be help for you from Asgard if you need it, Lady Skye," Sif told her gently, before rising to her feet and leaving the cubicle, gesturing at Jemma and Clint to move back before closing the door.

"Oh – I need to check Skye over properly…" Jemma said.

Sif folded her arms. "Right now, Doctor Jemma, Lady Skye and her Captain need to be alone. Your job as a doctor is done for today." She cut her eyes significantly at Clint. "Although it is possible that Eyes of Hawk sustained wounds that we do not see. Thor has told me that he has a bad habit of concealing such, to avoid worrying his friends."

Clint threw Sif an extremely grateful look as Jemma turned to him with a cry of alarm. Sif gave him a wink before sauntering off down the corridor, grinning to herself. Perhaps she would go check in on Son of Coul again. He had seemed _quite_ pleased to see her.

**I love Sif. She's such a badass. And I love the idea of her and Coulson, of her seeing through his mild-mannered exterior and realising that he's just as badass as she is.**

**Next; the reunions…**


	50. Reunions and Decisions

**Chapter 50**

_Steve and Skye_

Skye began to cry as soon as the door closed, deep wracking sobs that shook her tiny frame and broke Steve's heart.

"Don't cry," he begged, pulling her to lie beside him on the tiny bed, stroking her hair tenderly. "Please, Skye, please don't cry, no matter what's happened I won't leave you, it won't make any difference to me. I've been through changes too, I _understand_."

It took her a long time to get her breathing back under control, to tell him everything that had happened from the moment Ward dragged her off the Bus to seeing what she thought was Trip's death. Steve listened in horror as Skye choked out the tale of the awful meeting with her psychotic father, of what 'Cal' had told her about her mother's horrific death.

"_Daisy_?" he said in disbelief when she told him that part, and Skye actually let out a feeble chuckle.

"It's almost as bad a name as Mary-Sue, isn't it?"

"Well, unless you want me to use it, as far as I'm concerned you'll always be Skye."

She smiled, nuzzling closer to him, seeking his warmth. "Just Skye. I chose my name, I choose my own path. No matter what my crazy father wants. At least – at least Ward had the excuse of Lorelei messing about in his head…"

"It's not an excuse," Steve told her firmly. "Clint had his head messed with by Loki, and he hasn't gone psycho on us. His background's just as bad as Ward's, if not worse. Sorry, Skye, but I don't buy it."

She sighed, resting her chin on his chest and looking at him. "I know. I'm _glad_ James killed him. I tried, but – but I couldn't make myself do it."

"It's hard, to kill someone you thought was your friend," Steve said. He didn't mention Brock Rumlow's name, not to Skye – but that was someone else who would have to be dealt with, eventually.

"Is it awful, to feel relieved that he's dead?" tears trickled down Skye's cheeks again.

"No! Skye, he tried to kill you. You weren't conscious, but the bullet hit Tony's armour so close to your head, I thought for a moment…" Steve shuddered. "And then he shot _me_." He fingered the little hole in his uniform, and when she sat up and stared in horror, he dug in his pocket and removed the flattened shell he'd forced out of his flesh. "If I wasn't enhanced, I'd be dead."

"Oh my God, oh _Steve_," she made him take his top off so she could see the wound, touched the puckered, healing flesh wonderingly.

"It's fine," he reassured.

She traced her hands over his chest. Looked up at him with something like her usual mischief in her dark eyes. "I think I might need you to reassure me some more."

He hesitated. "Are you sure, because…"

Skye shut him up by plastering her lips to his, scrambling into his lap and straddling his hips, her hands working busily at the waist of his pants. It was beyond Steve to deny her, especially once her hand closed around his arousal – and, yes, he was aroused. He was _always_ aroused around Skye. With a groan he fell back against the pillows and surrendered to Skye, lifting his hips so she could pull his pants down, reaching to help her discard her own clothes.

"I'm ravishing Captain America, would you look at that," Skye joked.

"I promise I won't ever tell my fan club," Steve responded dryly, taking condom she produced from a panel in the wall and ripping it open. The bed was miniscule, but they'd manage. He couldn't lie full length, so he bent his knees and lay back as Skye straddled his hips.

"Ah, but Coulson already knows," Skye smiled teasingly, "he gave me a shovel talk last week."

"What?" Steve stared at her incredulously as she began to ease down on him.

"Oh yes, it went something like _If you hurt Steve Rogers, my girl, there won't be enough left of you to bury._"

"He did not," Steve flushed with embarrassment – and arousal, as Skye shifted against him, slowly taking him deeper. She hadn't let him arouse her much, and while not exactly dry, she wasn't slippery. He lifted a hand and eased a finger in to put pressure on her clit, rewarded with a soft little moan and a rush of moisture, and then Skye slipping a little further down on him.

"Oh yes he did. He _is_ your biggest fan," Skye said breathily.

Steve thought of something she'd want to know. "He's a bit bashed up, and Sif carried him out very gently. She was stroking his hair and looking very clucky over him. Only not in a mother-hen way, if you get what I mean."

"Really!" Skye grinned, easing up and then down, feeling the delicious friction of Steve's cock dragging inside her. He was looking a bit wild-eyed and quite obviously talking to distract himself from what she was doing on top of him. Mischievously, she straightened her back, dropped her hand behind her and caressed his balls. "Obviously Sif is astute enough to recognise just how fantastically badass Coulson is."

"Please can we stop talking about Coulson?" Steve begged, a little frantic.

"Sure," she teased. "What shall we talk about instead?"

He grasped her hips and jerked her hard against him. Skye let out a breathy little scream as he slipped the last inch inside and filled her completely.

"How about just how much I fucking missed you?" he gritted out, thrusting again. "How much I want you. How much I need you. How much I lo-_Skye_." She was coming, clenching around him in an irresistible ripple of tight, wet muscle, and he lost it with a roar, slamming home one more time and exploding.

_James_

James fled down the passage as though the hounds of hell were after him. That look in Hawkeye's eyes told him quite clearly that if he ever dared laid hands on Jemma again his chances of survival would be slim to none. Never mind that he hadn't instigated the hug she'd given him.

Coming to the cockpit door, he hesitated. But he did want to speak to Natasha, tell her about Ward, and he knew she'd come up here to see May. He felt awkward with the other woman; they'd barely spoken, but she'd given him several assessing looks from those hard dark eyes and, little though he liked to admit it, she made him feel nervous.

He'd loved Natalia, all those years ago. Still loved her, if he was going to be honest about it, but she'd made her choice clear when he'd made a single, subtle (he thought) advance. She told him flatly that she was with Melinda, that she loved the other woman, and she wouldn't betray her. James had simply nodded, hidden his heartbreak (just another scar) and carried on.

He turned the handle on the cockpit door and walked in. For a moment, he was absolutely blinded by the sight before him.

The autopilot was engaged, the big plane flying itself. And in the pilot's seat the two women were entangled, both nude.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," horrified for the second time in as many minutes, James made to retreat. But May, who had been on top, straddling Natasha's lap, darted from the chair and pushed the door closed, twisting the locking mechanism with a _snick_.

"Uh," James said, looking down at her, "I think you meant to do that with me on the other side of the door?"

Natasha smiled at him. "Melinda never does anything she doesn't intend, James." She uncurled from the seat like a cat, all smooth, lithe curves. He couldn't look away as she sauntered towards him.

"Natalia," he said hoarsely, unable to remember what he should call her now, not with her there in front of him like that, more beautiful even than he remembered.

And then he felt Melinda's hands on him, unfastening his jacket. He looked down at her with a puzzled frown.

"Nat says you're worth the effort," Melinda arched her eyebrows at him. "Prove it."

Well, with _two_ of them there before him, so beautiful, how could he refuse? A little bit of the part of his personality James thought of (privately) as _Bucky_ came to the fore, and he grinned. "I aim to please, ladies."

_Hunter and Bobbi_

"Is there any chance you two could at least wait until I've passed out again before you start?" Mack said wearily. Bobbi had started by just leaning her head against Hunter's shoulder, but barely a couple of minutes had passed before she was in his lap, his face buried in her cleavage.

"Go to sleep, Mack," Hunter's muffled voice said.

"Or you could, you know, _leave me alone_ and go find somewhere private?"

"Not until we're sure that you're gonna be _you_ the next time you open your eyes," Bobbi told him.

Mack sighed, but he knew she meant well. "All right. But at least _try_ and be quiet?" He closed his eyes.

Hunter managed to wait until Mack's ripping snores were sounding through the compartment before unzipping Bobbi's pants. She returned the favour with a low chuckle.

_Sif_

Sif left the sleeping area – such cramped spaces! worse than war tents – and went back down the stairs. She looked into the healing room and found Engineer Fitz there, watching over the sleeping Warrior Trip. The Man of Iron had put his suit back on and departed once the operation was complete, taking the Terrigen Shard back to his Tower for examination.

Fitz looked up from one of the crude tablets the Midgardians used and gave her a respectful nod. She listened for a moment to the Warrior's even breathing, nodded to Fitz and moved on.

The Son of Coul was drowsing, on the narrow bed set up for him in the laboratory. Sif moved to his side and looked down at him. Such an unassuming face, for such a remarkable man. It had been many long centuries since she had felt such a quickening in her loins, as the Son of Coul inspired in her.

His eyes opened. Of course. One such as he was always alert; he was aware of even her light footsteps, her silent presence.

"Lady Sif," he said. "Is all well?"

"All is well, Son of Coul."

"I wish," he said, "you would call me Phil, my lady."

Doctor Jemma had given him some of her healing medicines and he was a little more cloudy than usual in his thinking. That could be the only possible reason for his making such an intimate request. Sif felt a blush coming to her cheeks, for the first time in more years than she could remember. "I should like that very much… Phil." His name felt nice on her lips. "Will you call me Sif?" she asked him shyly in return.

Phil eyed Sif. He had the feeling that he was missing something here, something confusingly Asgardian. How he wished he'd had more time to talk to Thor about their customs!

"You honour me, Sif," he replied. A smile curved her lips, a true, soft smile, and he couldn't help but stare. She was easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. _A goddess_, he reminded himself, the Norse people worshipped her as a goddess… well, Phil would worship her too, given the chance.

_Oh dear God, what did Jemma give me?_ he wondered as he realised suddenly that he'd been rambling his thoughts _out loud_. Sif was scarlet-cheeked, unable to meet his eyes – and then her slender hand stole into his.

"I am no goddess, Phil. Just a woman."

"Never _just_ a woman," he told her. _How did you ask a goddess out?_ "This is hardly the time or the place, Sif, but – I should very much like to take you out to dinner."

She startled, those storm-grey eyes flying wide. "You wish to obtain _food_ for _me_?"

"Oh God, I really need to talk to Thor about Asgardian courting customs," Phil groaned, and Sif covered her mouth, laughing.

"Oh, I see. This is something that one would normally do on Midgard in the early stages of courtship?"

"Yes. Go out to dinner. A date, we'd call it. It doesn't have to be a meal. Do you like music? Perhaps I could escort you to a concert instead?"

"I enjoy musical performances very much," Sif said, and then she smiled again. "But I do hope you will not ask me to sing. My singing voice has been known to cause men to flee in panic, lest their eardrums rupture in protest at the din."

"I won't ask you to sing." Phil smiled. It was nice to know that there was something Sif wasn't perfect at. He managed not to say _that_ out loud. _Damn this drug, anyway, whatever it was!_

"Sleep, Phil," Sif said softly, seeing his eyelids drifting. She hesitated, and then asked shyly; "May I watch over you while you rest?"

"That's something quite intimate on Midgard," Phil mumbled drowsily.

"Then it is something you have in common with Asgard."

"I should like it very much if you did, Sif." The last thing he felt before unconsciousness claimed him was her long-fingered hand gently stroking over his.

**End of the chapter! Oh, did I miss out one of the reunions?**

**Dear me… that one will be along shortly!**

**Oh – and to the Guest who didn't want me to write Phil and Sif? Sorry. Tough cookies. If you signed in and made it so I could discuss it with you, I'd share my reasoning and discuss it happily. As it is – well, you were outvoted anyway by the people who thought they made an awesomely badass couple! That said, because Asgardians live such long lives, I do have the feeling that they wouldn't feel the need to rush into anything, and that courtship would normally be quite a slow business.**

**To the other Guest who didn't like what I did with Agent 33 – again I'd discuss my reasoning with you if possible. But since she was allied with Ward – and Nat wasn't exactly rational about her stealing May's face – I let Nat deal with her. She's not **_**necessarily**_** dead. But she definitely doesn't have May's face on any more. I don't disagree with you about some of the things the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have done this season – you'll note Nat read Coulson the riot act and Clint and Steve aren't very impressed either. Phil's made some VERY poor decisions IMHO. I'm just trying to fix them ;)**


	51. I Was Doing My Job

**Chapter 51**

_Clint and Jemma_

"Oh my God are you really injured?" Pretty much every medical space on the Bus was already being utilised, so Jemma pulled Clint hastily along the row to her cubicle. He came willingly, unhooking his quiver on the way.

"You'd better check me over."

"Oh, love," anxious, she pressed him to sit down on the bed, helped him unhook the zips and buckles of his combat suit. Taking a moment to appreciate just how he looked in it. She'd never seen him in his Avenging suit, only his plain black S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. This one fit him even better. After a moment she had him stripped to the waist, running gentle fingers over his exposed skin. "Where does it hurt?"

He grinned up at her, sitting on the edge of her bed, settling his hands on her hips and bringing her in to stand between his knees. "I only took one hit."

"Where?" alarmed, she looked him over, but could see no mark on his skin. Just smooth, rippling muscle shifting easily as he drew her a little closer.

One of Clint's hands eased around behind Jemma, pressing into the small of her back, pulling her against him. And then he lifted his free hand and touched his cheek. "Here."

She didn't get it for a moment. And then she remembered slapping him.

"Clint, you _shit_."

"Did I have you worried, Jemma?"

"Of course you did, you idiot!" Sighing at the look on his face, she lifted her hands to his cheeks, stroking lightly, feeling the slight rasp of his stubble. "Clint, I was terrified for you down in those tunnels. You didn't see what it did to Mack."

"No, and I had to hear about it from Trip," Clint arched his eyebrows at her. "I get that you're angry with me for what you see as me running off into danger and leaving you behind, Jemma. But the fact is, I was _doing my job_."

"So was I," she said defensively.

He tightened his grip on her, pulling her hard against his body. She couldn't help herself from running her hands into his hair, feeling the short, spiky strands between her fingers.

"You promised to call me if your team got out of their depth, Jemma. At what point were you going to make that call, hmm? You can't tell me that if we hadn't got there today, things might not have gone very differently, and a great deal more messily. Especially considering what Raina turned into." He shuddered at the memory of the yellow-eyed _thing_ that was hopefully permanently sealed into the underground city.

"I wanted to," she confessed, letting him pull her down to sit in his lap, resting her head against his shoulder. "But – Coulson _specifically_ ordered me and Fitz not to talk to anyone outside the team about the mission."

"I'm going to have to teach you my policy on which orders to obey and which not to," Clint murmured, distracted by Jemma's pretty bottom wiggling on his thighs as she settled herself. "But we're already planning to have a very long conversation with Coulson about some of his decisions over the last couple of months. As far as we're concerned _joint venture_ means something other than what _he_ apparently thinks it does."

"Who's 'we'?" Jemma asked curiously.

"The Avengers. All of us."

"And wait, what do you mean about Coulson's decisions? What do you know about them?"

Clint smiled, playing with the buttons on Jemma's blouse. "Did you really think that we'd leave the information-gathering to you, Skye and May, when we _knew_ you'd been ordered not to talk about S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff?"

Jemma's mouth fell open. "You were _spying_ on us! Who…?"

"First off, I prefer to think of it as _keeping an eye on our interests_. Secondly – I don't know. Nat set it up. She's the spy, after all. I'm just the sniper."

His eyes were wide and innocent, and Jemma wasn't fooled for a moment. She also knew very well that he wouldn't tell her any more. Sighing, she snuggled closer to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you earlier," she mumbled.

"I forgive you." He lifted her chin, kissed her lightly. "But just _think_, Jemma. You'd never forgive _yourself_ if one of your team had been lost down there and you realised afterwards that you could probably have prevented it with one damn phone call."

Her lips trembled, tears beginning to slip from her eyes. "I was so scared," Jemma whimpered, hating herself for being so weak, but she couldn't help it. "So scared when _you_ went down there and I thought you might not come back…"

"Shh." He kissed her quivering lips tenderly. "I'm here. I love you, Jemma, I'll always come back to you. No matter what."

"Clint," she sobbed, breaking down at last, "I could have _lost_ you down there!"

"You won't lose me, Jemma. I'm yours. Always." He took a deep breath. "Marry me."

"_What_?" she choked, her tears stopping instantly with the shock of his words.

"I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone, Jemma Simmons. And I don't want to go through another day like this one ever again. I want to know that you'll tell me everything important that's going on with you. And the only way that I can ask you to have that much trust in me, is for _me_ to show _you_ how much you matter to me." Gently, he eased her off his lap to sit on the bed, and went to one knee before her, holding both her hands in his.

"So I'm asking you again, Jemma Simmons. Will you marry me?"

Jemma was too choked up to speak, too stunned by the enormity of what was happening. She knew the depths of Clint's reserve, his very good reasons for being wary of letting people get close to him. She knew how hopelessly deep _she_ was in love with _him_. But she'd resigned herself to his one day pushing her away, unable to take the final step into commitment, or perhaps in the best-case scenario they'd just continue as they were, seeing each other when they could in between their other commitments.

The fact that he was here before her on his knees, his eyes frightened, obviously fearful that she would reject him but nevertheless determined to try…

"Yes."

**You'll have to wait until tomorrow to see Clint's reaction…**

… **hiding under the couch again…**


	52. Did You Want Me To Say No?

**Chapter 52**

"Yes."

For a moment, he thought he couldn't have heard her correctly. He really hadn't been expecting it; had expected her to let him down gently, tell him it was too early, she wasn't ready, she needed time – or the truth, that _he_ was _not_ marriage material, and certainly not for a girl with as much to give as Jemma.

"What?"

"Yes, Clint. Yes."

He was staring at her uncomprehendingly. Jemma bit her lip. "I'd like very much to marry you?" she tried.

"Really?"

"You really thought I was going to say no!" she realised in horror. "Oh my God, did you _want_ me to say no…?"

"No!" he almost shouted that, lifting her hands to his face and pressing his brow to them. "But I never – I really couldn't let myself even begin to hope that you'd say yes…"

"Yes," she told him, fighting back tears again, this time that Clint could possibly think he was inadequate. "Yes, yes, yes, yes…" he reached up and kissed her.

Jemma slid off the bed and onto his bent knee, her arms going around his neck as she kissed him back. His hands stroked wonderingly over her hair, her back, and Clint realised they were tremoring slightly. He could barely believe that this was real, that Jemma was really here, in his arms, tears still wet on her cheeks, pressing kisses all over his face as she reassured him, told him that she felt so lucky he loved her.

"I'm the lucky one," he muttered, rubbing his nose on her soft neck, breathing in her scent. Even after the day she'd had, she still smelled good. Like apples. "So damn lucky you even looked twice at me."

"Many more times than twice," Jemma deliberately scratched her short nails down either side of his spine, felt him shudder. "Couldn't take my eyes off you whenever you were around. Can't keep my hands off you. When you're not there I feel like there's part of me missing, Clint; I want to be with you. Always."

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered, overwhelmed as Jemma spoke the words that so perfectly mirrored his own feelings. "I – I am going to spend the rest of my life trying to make you the happiest woman alive."

For several long moments they just held each other, kissing softly, whispering loving words. And then Clint rose to his feet, easily lifting Jemma with him. "This is the right place, you know."

"Hmm? Oh," Jemma glanced around the tiny room, then up at Clint, smiling. "Yes, you're right. This is where we first had sex."

"Made love," Clint corrected, "I've never just _had sex_ with you, Jemma. Actually it was my cubicle, if you recall – but close enough."

Jemma grinned. "I was too dazed by having the legendary Hawkeye in my bed to notice much, to be honest."

That made him chuckle. "What made you give in so quick and let me seduce you?" he couldn't help but ask, even as he set her on the bed and reached down to take her boots off.

"Oh seriously, have you _seen_ you?" Jemma gestured at him, taking in the magnificent shoulders and arms. "I thought I'd better take advantage before you came to your senses and decided you didn't actually want me after all."

Clint let out a snort of laughter. "Not really?"

"Of course really!" she shook her head at him. "Come on, I had no idea at the time that you'd been stalking me!"

"I really wish you'd stop using that term," Clint frowned.

"I should," Jemma realised. Because _stalking_ was what Ward had been doing to Skye, and it was a great deal more sick and terrifying than Clint's admiration of her from afar. "All right, how about that you'd been wistfully admiring me from a distance?"

"Closer, though you make me sound rather like a teenage kid with a crush. Rather than a grown man with some very vivid fantasies and clearly defined desires."

"Really?" Jemma started unbuttoning her blouse. "Why don't you tell me about some of them?"

Damn, he still _was_ a teenager with his first crush when she did that. Clint stared, licking his lips, as the buttons slipped free and the blouse parted, soft pale skin revealed to his eyes. She was wearing another of those pretty lingerie sets he loved so much, this one pale green satin with tiny pink rosebuds.

"Ah, Jemma," he said softly, leaning in over her, hands braced on either side of her, pushing her back against the pillow. "You take my breath away."

She was the one who was panting, quick uneven breaths as he hovered over her, the breadth of his shoulders dwarfing her small frame. A tiny whine escaped her lips as Clint bent his head, nuzzling at the curve of her breast over the edge of the bra, before opening his mouth and licking at her nipple, wetting the thin satin.

"_Clint_," Jemma moaned as he moved, pressing his weight down on her legs to hold her in place, sucking her nipple harder into his mouth. His teeth grazed the slippery material and her hands started to shake, moving up to run into his hair, holding him closer. Wanting more of his touch, of that delicious heat that always surged between them. "_Please_," she said deliberately, knowing how it affected him when she used that particular word.

A low growl sounded in Clint's chest, and then he was unfastening her belt, stripping it and her trousers away quickly, pressing the heel of his hand against her crotch. He slid down the bed, opening his mouth and licking over the damp satin of her panties, pressing his tongue firmly over her clit.

Jemma was making those soft keening noises he loved so damn much, driving him insane as she lifted her hips, trying desperately to press herself harder against his mouth.

"I gotta have you, sweetheart," he muttered, scrabbling at his own belt. "Jemma…?" she was technically still on duty, after all. And if anyone needed emergency medical attention, things could get very embarrassing real quick.

"Shut up and fuck me," Jemma demanded frantically, tugging at his hair.

He'd long since recognised that he could deny her nothing. Least of all a plea like that. Shoving his pants down, uncaring of them tangled around his knees because he certainly wasn't taking the time to get his boots off, Clint edged Jemma's panties aside and pressed into her slick, wet tunnel with his thumb. She was more than ready for him, juices coating his hand, needy moans coming from deep in her throat as she arched into his touch.

"So lovely," Clint muttered thickly. "Need you so bad." He was so hard, he thought he might explode before he ever got inside her. Just the thought of her tight heat surrounding him had that prickle beginning at the base of his spine.

"Yes," Jemma moaned deliriously, feeling his arousal push against her thigh as he moved back up over her body, pausing to taste her satin-covered breasts, plumping them in his big hands, licking over and nipping at her aching nipples.

"Love you so much," knowing how it annoyed her when he wrecked her expensive underwear – not that he didn't just do it sometimes for the sheer pleasure of buying her new things – he edged her panties over and pushed past, using one hand to rub the tip of his cock over her clit a few times before pressing in where he desperately wanted to be.

"Clint," he felt wonderful, thick, hot, heavy, _filling_. Jemma arched her back, running her hands down his sides to grab his hips and try and pull him deeper into her. He groaned harshly against her throat, his own back bowing as he plunged deep.

"Yes, fuck, Jemma baby, you feel so good," Clint moaned as she wrapped tightly around him, her legs coming up to clasp his hips, pull him as deep as she could get him, her head rolling back as her eyes closed ecstatically. "No, sweetheart, look at me, I need to see your eyes."

She groaned in protest, but as he began a series of gentle thrusts, angling to glide over her most sensitive spots, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

Clint's expression was one of worshipful adoration as he gazed down at her, combined with a healthy dose of lust. "So beautiful," he muttered, and then something changed in his look as Jemma felt a small, pre-orgasmic spasm shoot through her. "_Mine_." It was a possessive snarl deep in his chest, reverberating though both of them.

"Yes," Jemma gasped. "Yours. I'm yours – oh God, Clint, _YES_!" he'd changed suddenly to a hard, fast, plunging rhythm that sent her totally over the edge, back arching, throaty cries of his name tipping him over the edge too, spurting hotly, buried to the hilt in her soft, welcoming body, his eyes blind as he roared out her name.

A couple of doors along the corridor, Steve's face flamed red. Lying on his chest, Skye eyed him quizzically. "What? I didn't say anything."

"Let's just say super-senses aren't always a good thing."

**Merry Christmas from Down Under. My house is now even more full of Lego than it was previously, including an Ultra Agents mission truck which has been declared to be the new Agents of SHIELD headquarters, and a Quinjet my old son is taking great delight in zooming around with Hawkeye as the pilot…**

**I hope that you noticed in the previous chapter, I actually provided an explanation for Bobbi and Mack's secrecy and the thumb drive, even though I didn't explicitly mention it! No one seemed to notice *pout* although I guess you probably had a legitimate reason for distraction…**


	53. Go Coulson!

**Chapter 53.**

_Avengers Tower, three weeks later_

"It isn't good enough, Coulson."

In the end, they'd decided to let Maria Hill read Coulson the riot act. She used to be his boss, after all, and he still respected her a great deal, even if they'd argued over her handing over Providence to Talbot. He looked away from her angry blue eyes.

"I – can't really explain," he confessed sheepishly. "Only to say that I wasn't entirely thinking rationally."

"I know what you've been through, Coulson. Possibly better than you do." Maria leant forward in her chair, staring at him unflinchingly. "It wasn't my decision, but I did carry out Fury's orders. I flew you to the Guest House and I stayed there with you."

"You… did? Oh God." He rubbed at his forehead. "I still don't remember everything," Phil admitted.

"Which is good. Believe me. And therefore, I do understand that your decision-making was compromised, especially regarding anything to do with GH-325 and the Kree city. It's why I was in favour of the joint venture between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers in the first place, not merely because it meant I didn't have to be careful about what secrets I shared." She reached out, pressed her slim fingers lightly on his in emphasis. "But you agreed too, Phil. _You_ agreed to the joint venture, to information-sharing, and the Avengers have every right to be thoroughly pissed with you. I'll give you my opinion and say that the fact that three of them – four if you count Barnes – are now romantically entangled with members of your team is the only reason that they haven't cut ties with S.H.I.E.L.D. already. That and the fact that they do feel they owe _you_ at least one more chance."

Phil sighed and dropped his head. He'd been in the wrong, and he knew it. Maria said no more, just stood up. "Come on. They're waiting for us upstairs. And I understand we might be having some extra visitors."

JARVIS let them out of the elevator at the penthouse. Phil looked around in wonder. He'd been here before any number of times, but he'd never seen it like this, a winter wonderland, everything white with tiny sparkling lights draped along the walls and projected on the glass, crystalline snowflakes hanging in the air seemingly unsupported, just high enough to keep the taller members of the party from hitting their heads. The only colour in the room – though there was plenty of it – came from the clothes of the guests sitting on the large white couches or standing talking, champagne flutes in hand.

Stark came up, dressed in one of his Italian handmade suits that probably cost more than Phil had made in any given year of his career, put a glass into his hand and looked into his eyes. "We good, Agent?"

"We're good." Phil was still a little ashamed to face them all. But he also knew that they would let bygones be bygones, so long as he didn't make the same mistake a second time. Tony clapped him on the shoulder and walked away.

Phil looked around, coming to the rather humbling realisation that whatever mistakes he might have made – and he wasn't above admitting he'd made a fair few – his team had gone ahead and integrated themselves with the Avengers just fine.

Tony had moved to join a little group consisting of Fitz, Mack, Jane Foster, and Darcy, all of whom were building something on a holotable with occasional raucous peals of laughter as the monkey on Darcy's shoulder leaned in to add or adjust something. Trip was standing with Pepper, Colonel Rhodes, Sharon Carter, Sam Wilson and Bruce Banner, demonstrating to their obvious fascination how he had learnt to turn parts of his body, and anything he might be touching, invisible at will. Maria headed in that direction with an intrigued look on her face.

James sat in the corner of one couch with _May_ in his lap, Natasha seated beside them with a wide grin on her face, James's metal arm around her shoulders. Phil stared incredulously. Hell, when did _that_ happen? He'd missed _something_ along the way, obviously. Lance and Bobbi occupied the other end of the same couch, curled together contentedly. He was braiding her hair.

Steve sat on the other couch, Skye beside him. They were holding hands, which, Phil realised, was a big step for Steve, who was a very undemonstrative man in public. They kept looking at each other and sharing secret smiles. The tiny blue crystal was missing from around Skye's neck tonight, Phil noted; she had quickly learned that controlling negative emotions was the key to managing her ability, and surrounded by such close and trusted friends as these there would be no negative emotions to worry about tonight.

Clint was perched up on the back of the couch – typical Hawkeye, always seeking the high ground – with Jemma sitting back against his legs, her head resting against his knee. The slim band on her finger sparkled with tiny white diamonds. Jemma was no more the flashy type than Clint, and had chosen the simple design. Phil happened to know that Tony had then fabricated it personally from pure palladium and the finest diamonds money could buy, but Jemma wasn't aware of the fact. Clint's fingers traced reverently through Jemma's hair, and he still stared at her as though half-afraid she would turn out to be an illusion and suddenly disappear on him.

A flash of lightning and boom of thunder outside heralded Thor's arrival, and Phil watched with a smile as Jane immediately broke away from the little gang of creative types and headed for the balcony doors. It was good that Thor could be there tonight, to complete their company.

He almost lost his breath at the sight of the woman who followed Thor inside. By the time he regained consciousness at the Playground Sif had been gone again, back to Asgard. He'd half wondered if those few moments on the Bus were hallucinations produced by Jemma's painkilling drugs.

Sif's shy smile when she saw him said otherwise, though. He could only gape in awe.

He'd only ever seen Sif in her battle armour, and while she was knockout gorgeous in it in a Xena-Warrior-Princess kind of way, in a flowing silvery gown that reached to her ankles and somehow covered every inch of her skin while revealing every curve of her perfect figure…

"The Son of Coul is struck dumb by your beauty, Lady Sif!" Thor boomed, in his usual version of a stage whisper which meant absolutely everyone in the room jumped and looked around.

Phil wasn't the only one. It was the first time several of those present had seen Sif in person – at least while not wounded and under the influence of drugs – and there were quite a number of dropped jaws. Sif, though, saw none of them. Lifting her chin proudly, she walked directly across the room to Phil.

He recovered, somehow, by the time she reached him, and swept her a low bow. "Lady Sif. You – are – would it be a violation of protocol to say that you are so beautiful you leave me lost for words?"

She smiled. "Such a pretty compliment could never offend me…" she lowered her voice until surely no one but he could possibly have heard. "Phil."

_Goddamn it, Steve was smirking. _

Phil offered his arm to Sif and walked her back across the room to the balcony, steering her around where Thor and Jane were caught in a passionate clinch. "Have you had much opportunity to see the city by night, Lady Sif? It is very beautiful, if rather cold outside – would you like my jacket?"

She gave him another one of those slightly shocked looks which made him realise he'd probably just done something appallingly intimate by Asgardian standards. Again. Phil mentally kicked himself yet again, but Sif obviously recognised the horrified look on his face, because she laughed, a silvery ripple of sound.

"I shall not be cold, Phil, but thank you for the offer."

"I really need to talk to Thor," he muttered as they exited the room on to the rooftop.

"I doubt it would be of much use. Thor never was interested in courting anyone until he found his Lady Jane, and – well, what they do now would be considered a flagrant breach of propriety on Asgard. Not even a husband and wife would behave so outside the privacy of their own chambers." Sif didn't look disapproving, Phil noted. More indulgently amused. He filed the tidbit of information away in his mind.

It was because Asgardians lived such long lives, he supposed. They saw no need to rush into anything, and so courtship was slow, careful. He gave a small internal sigh. Well, Sif might not be getting any older, but _he_ wasn't getting any younger. Well. He could be patient.

"It is beautiful, you are correct," Sif was staring out across the brightly lit cityscape. "It has been long since I spent much time on Midgard."

Phil was considering, and discarding, several different responses to that when she turned and faced him directly.

"That is changing. I have little purpose on Asgard just now. Thor, as Prince, is often called away from his duties here as an Avenger to fulfil diplomatic duties for Asgard. He asked me to come here, to take up a place on his team, so that there shall always be an Asgardian presence visible and ready to defend Earth."

She was staying. Sif was _staying_, here on Earth, here in the Tower. Phil stared, hardly daring to hope, and she smiled at him again.

"I was hoping that you would renew your offer to escort me to a musical performance, Phil?"

"I can think of nothing I should like more," he recovered himself after a moment.

Bells suddenly began to ring out in the city, and Sif startled, her hand instinctively reaching for the sword that wasn't present on her back.

"It's all right," Phil reassured her hastily. "It's just midnight. It's Christmas Day." Inside, he could hear shouts of _Merry Christmas_. Watson the monkey was holding a sprig of mistletoe over Darcy's head as Fitz kissed her. Oh God, he'd have to warn Sif about that custom. He wouldn't put it past Trip – or maybe Sam or Rhodey – to ambush her somewhere and probably have their ass handed to them.

"Oh – they sound like a warning clarion!" Sif relaxed slowly, a smile coming to her face. "Christmas. It has been very long since I celebrated that holiday."

Phil didn't doubt that between Pepper and JARVIS, there would be quite a number of gifts with Sif's name on them under the huge white Christmas tree in the corner of the penthouse before morning. He wondered what would be an appropriate gift to give to a lady you were courting on Asgard, and had asked the question before realising he probably shouldn't.

Sif smiled shyly. "A token of regard, you mean?"

"Perhaps just something that you would like. Or use, that you would not think to get for yourself. Those are the best gifts, in my opinion: something you did not know how much you wanted until someone gave you one."

"But then how should I be able to tell you what it was?" their eyes met, and suddenly they were both laughing at the utter ridiculousness of the conversation.

"Why don't you tell me what would be an _in_appropriate gift, then?" Phil tried again.

"An item of clothing, or jewellery," Sif said instantly. "Should Thor see me receive a gift of such from you – and yes, I have told him that you and I have commenced a preliminary courtship – he would feel honour-bound to inform my brother, who would not be best pleased."

"Who is your brother?" Phil asked curiously.

"He is Heimdall. The Guardian."

"The – uh, the one Thor shouts at a lot…?"

Sif smiled. "Yes. He guards the Bifrost. The Guardian, the Watcher; he is Odin's right hand man and the fiercest warrior Asgard has ever seen."

Phil gulped. "And he can see across the Realms, can he not? He sees…"

"Oh!" she reached out, put her hand over his where it held onto the balcony railing in a white-knuckled grip. "He cannot see me unless I wish it," Sif reassured.

Phil sagged with relief before realising that he'd just made himself look completely pathetic in front of Sif. He straightened, caught her eye and smiled nervously. To his surprise, she smiled back at him, a true, wide smile.

"Only a fool would not be wary of my brother."

"I must be extremely wise, then, because I'm kind of terrified," he confessed.

"Wise, courageous – you have many qualities that I admire," Sif said quietly.

If she'd been any other woman, Phil would have tried to kiss her right then. Instead, he turned his hand under hers, lifted it and bowed over it, ghosting his lips over her knuckles. Her smile told him _that_ was the right response, at least.

"We should go inside," Sif said then. "Thor will be wondering why I have permitted you to be alone with me for so long."

"Will you explain to me Asgardian courting customs – or at least, tell me of anything I absolutely should not do?" Phil asked as they walked back towards the door. "Since you already told me Thor won't be of much use, and there's not exactly anyone else I can ask."

"No," Sif said abruptly. "I must set aside my Asgardian ways and learn to live as a woman on Earth must, now. Thor has already shown he is willing to breach the bounds of what our people would consider proper. I trust you, Phil, I trust that you will not ask of me that which would be improper among your own people."

He swallowed. "That is a great deal of trust to place in a man who is utterly entranced by you."

Sif's eyes went wide and very soft. She placed her hand in his arm as they walked back in through the door, into the noisy, raucous throng.

"Kiss!" it was Skye, of course, who yelled it.

"What?" Phil blinked, and then realised he and Sif were standing right underneath a – was that a _holographic_ piece of mistletoe? He gave Tony a narrow-eyed look.

"It is a Midgardian tradition, to kiss beneath the mistle twig at Christmastide to gain luck, Lady Sif!" Thor boomed informatively, a broad smile on his face.

"Well, then, if it is a tradition," Sif grinned at Thor, and turned to Phil, her smile a little shy. "Son of Coul?"

"I'm clearly the luckiest guy alive right now anyway," Phil said, to make them all laugh, and then he put his hand to the back of Sif's neck, into her thick, silken black hair, and drew her close. She was exactly the same height as he was.

Her lips were soft and warm, and deliciously yielding. He kept the kiss light, saw the blush on her pale cheeks when he pulled back, but there was a small smile on her face.

"Go Coulson!" Every single member of his team was cheering. And so were all of the damn Avengers. Phil attempted to glower at them, but right now he was feeling too good. Especially as he felt Sif's hand steal into his.

**D'AWWW, Phil needed some love too, couldn't help myself!**

**So, we've checked in with the team and found everyone well and happy at Christmastime. As far as I'm concerned, this is the end of the story.**

**For now.**

**I will be revisiting it with some little one-shots and vignettes over the coming weeks. But right now, I'm off to get the hell on with the other stories I should be working on, namely A Shattered Reflection, The Hulk And The Waitress, Her Dirty Little Secret, the Soulmate Shorts and their sequels, and a number of other plots I have brewing…**

… **so you'll have no excuse to be complaining of withdrawal symptoms from my writing any time soon!**

**And please don't complain about this stopping short. As I said, it's NOT over. Plus, for a story that I expected to be about 20,000 words of smut, this one's heading for the 100,000 word mark!**


End file.
